


The Spotless Mind

by trishjames



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Drug Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Fluff, Forgiveness, Fun Hair Colours, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Insecurity, Jealousy, Loneliness, M/M, Memories, Memories are Backwards, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Musician!Draco Malfoy, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Epilogue Compliant, Obliviation, POV Harry Potter, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Romance, Switching, Tattoos, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, auror!Harry Potter, shock therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-13 14:04:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 51,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10515252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishjames/pseuds/trishjames
Summary: Dear Mrs Hermione Granger-Weasley,Draco L. Malfoy has had his relationship with Harry J. Potter erased from his memory.Please never mention their relationship to him again.Thank You,Lacuna Magic, Inc.





	1. Chapter One

_“Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.”_

Nietzsche

 

**Present Day – Valentine’s Day**

The sharp blare of his alarm wakes him immediately, his teeth clattering together in panic as he throws an arm out, hand rooting around the nightstand to silence the offensive Muggle digital alarm. Once the room is blissfully quiet, Harry realises three things:

One, his whole body tingles. It’s that static-white feeling he gets when he erroneously falls asleep with an arm trapped beneath his body. It’s a searing ache that reaches from the tips of his fingers to the rest of his extremities, and it’s just a bloody awful feeling to deal with first thing in the morning. As he flexes his nearly numb fingers, he realises the second oddity.

With his fuzzy eyesight he can just about make out the surroundings of his bedroom. The room is _much_ too clean. Cleaner than he’s used to seeing— he’s not a slob at all, thanks to his training as a human house-elf as a child, but he enjoys leaving things around here and there. He considers it a small sense of freedom. The usual suspects of solid tees and tossed about pants on the floor are nowhere to be found. He's quite sure he left a container or two from the local curry restaurant right at the foot of his bed, but...no. It's all gone. He peers over to the half open window that’s gently rustling his drapes. 

Third and quite possibly the most startling for Harry this morning, is that his mouth is dry and tastes as if something has died and rotted away in it. He didn't drink last night, so what the bloody hell was that about?

The cold dew of morning creeps into his bedroom and he shivers as he searches the nightstand for his glasses. When he shoves them onto his face, he groans. His glasses are cracked in both lens. With a grimace, he removes his sheets from his form and stumbles into his ensuite.  

He looks as awful as he feels this morning. Bathed in the sickly yellow glow of the bathroom light, he repairs the offensive cracks and peers into the mirror. He’s deathly pale with dark, violet-coloured circles under his eyes. A deep frown emphasises the cracked lines on his lips, and his tongue darts out to moisten them. Averting his eyes from the mirror, he grabs his toothbrush and paste to erase whatever has died in his mouth. On any other day, a quick cleansing spell would work, but he particularly likes this peppermint flavoured paste, and the rhythmic motions console his swarming head and early-morning aches and jitters.

Lately falling into an undisturbed sleep has been a problem that he can’t help but chalk it up to work. He’s spent little time socialising outside of work with his friends lately because of the increase workload. As the soon-to-be Head of the Auror Department, sleepless nights have become routine. It was just the done thing.

The water in his shower is set to scolding hot and with a slight grunt he allows the water to run over his head and shoulders to the point of unbearableness. As his mind wanders, his soap lathered hands massage his tense muscles. Auror training made him fit, and the ripples of taut muscles in his arms, abdomen and thighs clench under the heat of the water and the caress of his hands. He's thankful for the training, regardless of how brutal it was at the time. It's made him stronger than he'd ever hoped to be. Long gone is the terrified, half-starved child with the knobbly knees that lived in the cupboard under the stairs. He bows his head under the spray of water, strands slick against his face as the spray of the shower mercilessly continues to pound his scalp, shoulders, and chest. He tries to recall what he did last night, quite certain that he'd had a curry takeaway. But he couldn’t quite piece anything beyond that together. What happened to his glasses? He remembers leaving the Ministry, but when exactly did he leave? Did he meet up with Ron at the pub before grabbing a late dinner? He's done that before, despite his schedule, but wouldn’t he remember? Fucking hell, how much had he consumed to cause such a blank spot in his mind? It was then that the panic seeped in. 

What if the confusion is _not_ from too many pints at the pub with Ron? What if it's work-related? What if he really is going mental over the transition from Auror to Head Auror? Hermione always seems to think so. Admitting to the crushing sadness that sits on his chest every night over his impending promotion was not on for him. But why was last night so hard to remember? Was this a sign that _finally_ , his loneliness is causing a strain on his mental stability? He had voiced his concerns to Hermione before, always his go-to Healer, and she had made sure that he was healthy and strong. Frustrated and yet relieved it wasn't his body at fault, she suggested a Mind Healer, probably suggested it for the millionth time. And for the millionth time, he ignored her.

Hermione likes to encourage him to face his demons. She claims she's done it and it's made her a stronger person. To her, her demons rest heavily on her torturing at the hands of Bellatrix, and the final battle. When she had shared this, she'd glanced at Harry with an expectant look on her face, ready for him to respond with his own demons, with something equally as devastating. He had told her that he doesn't like to waste time reflecting on the past, and Hermione's face had become pinched. Pity had set heavily in Harry's gut for her because he _regrets nothing, not a single thing when it comes to leaving the past in the past_. Thinking about the war stirred too much anger in him, even after all this time. It didn’t make sense to see a Mind Healer, or rehash painful memories with Hermione. He didn't want to relive the nightmares of all the people that had perished during the war, people he cared about and loved. Didn't want to talk about Voldemort living in his head. Didn't want to talk about a piece of Voldemort's soul living inside _him._  He especially didn't want to talk about fucking  _dying._  He just can't seem to stress that enough to Hermione. She now shuts down every single time he states (and restates) his reasoning. Even now, he's starting to feel anxious and he's hardly thinking about the war. It's a vicious cycle. He turns the shower off.

“It’s a damn headache _,_ ” he mutters as he exits his ensuite, towel clasped around his waist. Swaying on spot, he steadies himself against his wardrobe and takes a gander around the tidy space. Piles of clothing and old takeaway containers he was sure was scattered across the room the day before are still nowhere to be seen. Kreacher, bugger that he is, thankfully resides at Hogwarts now. After closing Grimmauld Place for good, the elf found comfort in working in the kitchens at the school. Perhaps Ron tidied the place up when he deposited him at home last night?

Harry stretches and with a smack of his now peppermint lips, reminds himself once again to stop overthinking. He sets about getting ready for another gruelling day.

 

***

Harry is in front of his fireplace in his reception room, hand ready to gather floo when the talon of an owl taps against his window. He studies the bird over his shoulder for a while, deciding that it is unfamiliar. He lets the creature in and it settles on the end table with a soft _hoot_ and a flick of its head. He approaches the creature apprehensively, noticing the rather red envelope attached to its leg, a puff of pink smoke escaping the corners. _Who would be sending me a Howler_. The creature stretches out its leg. Hesitantly, he opens it and a burst of tiny pink hearts fill his vision, along with the sickening lyrics of Celestina Warbeck’s, _“You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me_ ,” noisily filling his sitting room. The blood red card is covered with a thin layer of white lace, the curly pink and black script glittering underneath it –  

> _“Harry,_  
>  _Happy Valentine’s Day, mate! See you at the Leaky tonight, 20:00._  
>  _I’m sure you’ll absolutely LOVE the card!_
> 
> _Love,_  
>  _Neville.”_

Harry swears softly. He's forgotten that today is Valentine’s Day. Was he _really_ so overworked that he’d forgotten a day special for one of his closest friends? It’s been three years since Neville's suicide attempt. As Harry lingers by the floo, his mind is assaulted with memories from that night. He’d never seen Luna cry in such a way – gut wrenching and broken, as they all waited, huddled together, for a Healer to update them on Neville’s condition. Poison, they had said, hemlock from the greenhouse at Hogwarts.

For three years now, Neville sends him a wickedly garish card, but this would be a first for meeting up due to Luna being called away to the Continent on business. Harry can’t quite recall whose idea it was to send silly cards first, but it’s a time-honoured tradition. Guilt at having forgotten ruptures through every nerve in his body as he sits the card atop his mantel. Harry knows Neville's struggling with something deeper than he can comprehend, and had hoped Luna would eventually pull his mate out of it, but now he's not quite sure of such a possibility. 

On a lighter note, Neville by far wins the competition for the corniest Valentine’s Day card this year.

Staring at dwindling pink puffs escaping the card, Harry decides to skip work for the day. Damn it, he deserves a day off. He will purchase a card and candy to personally hand deliver to Neville.

***

What was meant to be a quick owl to Robards takes about two hours to compose. A cup of steaming Earl Grey sits before him as he struggles to come up with the best excuse. He is ill. _Yes_. Pneumonia or some other muggle affliction. _No_ —the giant squid has consumed his left leg and skele-grow has been administered to re-grow it. _No, no._  He's being ridiculous, but it draws a small smile to his lips. It's a nice feeling, considering how sad and overworked he's been lately. A day to himself to regroup sounds like a brilliant idea. He should just send that to Robards. No, that sounds even more _unlike_ himself, right? _Actually_ … _it would be spot on_ , Harry thinks with a groan. He fists the failed letters and tosses them into the nearest rubbish bin in his kitchen. 

He’s learned to cope with his growing reclusiveness and the anger that seems to consume him out on the field. He’s picked up some of the more intense jobs lately, wanting to work off his tension by throwing himself into the complicated, incredibly dangerous cases. The department actually agreed to let him work on these cases solo or else risk him walking away from the department completely, impending promotion be damned.

Ginny suggests a Mind Healer she met during her own Healer Training, as she’s unable to be his Mind Healer for ethical reasons. Ron and Hermione have each other, and their growing family to keep them preoccupied. He can’t rely on them every time he has a vulnerable moment anymore. And as much as he loves spending time with Rose and Teddy, they have their own families to see to them on a daily basis. Harry is lucky enough if he’s able to hold them for a few stolen hours during the weekend. It comforts him to know that Teddy still needs his Uncle Harry to sing or read his favourite Auror Tales to him.

His relationship with Ginny ended on amicable terms eight years ago, and she’s recently started dating Dean again. Neville had Luna. Seamus was…well…single and not _quite_ Harry’s type anymore. When his relationship ended with Ginny, it was due largely in part to his growing attraction for his Irish mate, but after a string of disastrous dates and terrible sex they both agreed to remain friends. That whole ordeal feels like a million years ago. He’s been aimlessly floating along ever since.

He takes a sip from his tea and pulls another fresh piece of parchment before him. 

> _Robards –_  
>  _I will not be in today. I have an emergency to tend to. We’ll pick up training for the upgrade tomorrow._  
>  _HJP_

Harry gives an approving nod. To Diagon he goes.

***

Before he heads into his favourite flower shop, he decides to pop into the Leaky Cauldron for a quick early lunch. Hannah Abbott, the new owner of the Leaky, greets him warmly and seats him in a discreet corner so he can enjoy his meal in peace. They exchange pleasantries and Harry orders fish and chips. He nurses a pint of the local ale Hannah places in front of him as soon as he sits down. He doesn’t ask for it and it is too early in the afternoon, but she gives him a small wink.

His mind wanders as he looks around the pub, unable to shake this morning’s blues off. He’s alone. He’ll forever be alone despite the desire to meet someone new. He knows his chances are somewhat diminished, seeing that he’s incapable of maintaining proper eye contact with random men he finds attractive. 

He is halfway through his meal when the hairs on the back of his neck stand erect. He’s familiar with the sense of someone watching him, despite being in a well-hidden corner. He seeks out the source of the sensation only to have someone slide into the seat in front of him.

Draco Malfoy, as Harry lives and breathes, is sitting in front of him. Harry nearly chokes on his chip as the blond shoots him a sly smile and pushes his nearly forgotten half full glass of ale towards him, which Harry snatches up for a large swallow.

“Potter,” Malfoy starts with enthusiasm, “fancy seeing you here.” He’s clenching a large brown shopping bag from _Honeydukes_ which he deposits in the chair next to him. “Can I…borrow one of your chips?” He lean forwards and plucks a chip from Harry’s plate, quickly demolishing it.

Harry is still quite taken aback at the sudden intrusion. He hasn’t seen Malfoy in… _Merlin… four years_. Malfoy attended Luna and Neville’s wedding four years ago. _Fancy seeing you here._ Harry’s struck with an odd sense of déjà vu. He recalls Hermione mentioning art or music and Malfoy’s name in the same sentence before, but like everything else today, he can’t seem to remember exactly. He’s much too in shock for his brain to recall, anyways. And Malfoy’s taken a piece of his chips…without even waiting for an answer.

All he can do is nod slowly as an afterthought. “It’s been a while, Malfoy. _Er_ …”

Harry takes in the man before him, his eyebrows shooting up. Harry remembers the last time he saw Malfoy, but he wasn’t anything like the man before him today. He recalls the posh, imposing figure he encountered four years ago at the wedding—all black outfit, platinum blond hair slicked severely back and a permanent sneer on his angular face. The wedding reception was held at the Leaky, which is where Neville took Luna for their first date. Harry recalls how he scoffed at Malfoy, accusing him of only becoming friends with Luna because he held her captive in the Manor dungeons for so long, surely it had to be Stockholm Syndrome. The blond didn’t even entertain a retaliation, he had promptly turned around and left Harry alone for the rest of the evening. He had left him alone for four years.

Four years has turned Malfoy into someone approachable, Harry muses. The other man is all playful smiles, his slightly wavy blond hair curling behind his ears, a pale pink fringe framing his relaxed face. He’s also wearing _muggle clothes_. His intruder begins to rid himself of his coat and blue scarf, revealing a slightly oversized black jumper over black jeans. _Merlin_ , Harry realises, Malfoy’s face is so much softer than he remembers, and he notices with a slight irritation that he’s quite handsome.

“Hello? Earth to Potter!” Malfoy says, waving his hand in Harry’s face. “Has no one told you it’s rude to stare?” Harry gives a start and flushes.

“I’m a bit in shock, Malfoy. It’s not every day your nemesis sits down with you for lunch.”

“Is that what the kids are labelling relationships like ours nowadays? Didn’t know,” he says with a smirk. “It’s been, oh what, five years? Draco asks as he stuffs his coat onto the seat with his Honeydukes bag and pushes the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows. Harry notices the sleeve of intricate black-inked flowers tattooed from Malfoy’s wrist to his elbow, completely covering his Dark Mark.

“Four,” Harry softly corrects, bringing his attention back to Malfoy’s face. 

“Indeed, four.”

“What happened to you Malfoy?” Harry knows he sounds silly as the question creeps up his throat and out his mouth before he can formulate a proper one. He can feel his cheeks burn as Malfoy studies him with a quirk of a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

“You look, well, er,” Harry trails off. “I mean—the last time I saw you—”

“Surely you can form a complete sentence, Potter?” Malfoy says slowly, as if speaking to a child. Harry doesn’t like the disgusted look Malfoy is giving him, as if he’s suddenly sprouted two heads. The look makes Harry feel very, very small but some part of him rejoices in Malfoy’s insult. A mean-spirited Draco Malfoy he can tolerate. It’s safe and familiar territory. A smiling Draco Malfoy is a terrifying Draco Malfoy, so terrifying it rattles Harry to his core and makes him think terrible things about the other man, like how handsome he is with said smile on his face. Harry’s struggling so much with his thoughts that he misses the annoyed groan and what Harry assumes is a shrug from Malfoy. “I love how I look, thank you very much,” Malfoy says, a slight edge marring his tone. Harry wonders if he’s had to defend his attire before to someone, maybe to Malfoy senior.

Harry remains silent, wanting the other man to continue. “The last time you saw me I was at a _wedding._ Wearing traditional _wedding_ _attire_ at a _traditional wizard wedding ceremony_. Also, Luna introduced me to some _excellent_ new hair colour charms. I’ve been trying it out, do you like it? I just dyed it pink this morning, it was blue before. _”_

“It’s okay,” Harry mutters, averting his eyes to focus on his basket of chips. He doesn’t want Malfoy to know just how adorable he finds the pale pink fringe, and he's afraid Malfoy will see it in his gaze. “I didn’t know you and Luna were still on friendly terms,” Harry says, offering Malfoy a nonchalant shrug. 

“I had lunch with her and Ginny yesterday,” Malfoy says matter-of-factly. Harry’s eyes widen in disbelief.

“You’re friends with _Ginny?_ She’s never mentioned it to me before.”

“We’ve been friends for quite some time, Potter. Perhaps she mentioned it but you were too busy daydreaming?”

“Oh, piss off,” Harry says. He’s still puzzled, though. “But… _er_ …really, why are you here talking to me?”

“Can’t a friend stop by and say hello?”

Harry flinches, “I would hardly call us _friends,_ Malfoy. Seriously, what do you want?”

Malfoy sighs and rolls his eyes. “Oh for pity’s sake, get over yourself, Potter. I was just about to leave when I saw you and thought to say hello. Is that so bizarre?” Draco gestures at the door then at Harry and pauses, as if daring him to answer. He carries on, “If you see someone you’ve known for more than half your life, you _say hello,_ Potter! Are we not old enough to do the proper thing once in a while?” Malfoy is giving him another smile and Harry is starting to feel something keen stir in the pit of his stomach from it.

He swallows nervously and nods, not returning Malfoy’s smile. He can understand that logic, _actually_ , he can applaud that logic. He can’t say he would have done the same if he had randomly caught sight of Malfoy from across a room. He wouldn’t sit in front of him and eat off his plate, either. But he can hardly fault the man for entering into a pub and being, well, _proactive_. Malfoy decides to steal another chip from his plate with a grimace. “Too much salt and vinegar, Merlin, Potter, are you trying to give yourself a heart attack?”

Harry pulls his plate closer to himself and curls his arm around his remaining chips, protecting it. He’s always hated people picking off of his plate. To this day it still reminds him of the many times he’d lost a meal to Dudley. Malfoy’s eyebrow quirks at the movement and seems a bit confused and contemplative but says nothing. “Well, perhaps you’ll stop eating off my plate and get your own chips.” He can’t keep the slight annoyance and edge from creeping into his tone. He shakes himself mentally, willing away the defensiveness born from sombre thoughts of Dudley’s cruelty. Malfoy releases a dramatic sigh and pushes a lock of hair behind his ear.

“I suppose.” He's looking around for Hannah and once he has her attention, he gives her a little wave. She weaves her way through the many tables to reach him.

“Draco! I thought you were on your way out…” she gives him a puzzled look before her eyes land on Harry and then quickly back to Malfoy. “Is there anything else I can do for you, love?” 

“A carbonated ginger beer, please, dear,” Malfoy says. Harry can’t quite hide the shock on his face at the term of endearment. “And nuts if you have them.”

“Of course I can do that for you,” she injects, “and Harry, is there anything else I can get you?”

“Maybe something to lift his jaw from the floor?” Malfoy answers. Hannah and Malfoy both begin to laugh at this. _What the hell is going on?_

“Ha-ha,” Harry says with a roll of his eyes. “Not interested in a pint?” he asks, hoping to change the subject, as his hand goes to his own glass for a sip. Malfoy’s face goes oddly blank and he remains silent, which is when Hannah clears her throat.

“Honestly, I’m sorry Harry, Draco, it’s just, I’m just bloody well shocked to see you two _together_.”  Hannah is looking anywhere but at them, a small sad smile on her face as she walks away. This behaviour fuels Harry’s confusion even more. They are an unlikely pair, he knows that, but surely seeing them together can’t be _that_ bizarre? They’re grown men now, like Malfoy said, they’re just being proper.

But Malfoy laughs, albeit a bit nervously, and Harry quirks an eyebrow. He takes the moment to look over Malfoy again. _He really is striking_ , Harry thinks, _and his laughter_. He takes in the blond man’s pale long lashes, full Cupid bow pink lips, and intelligent grey eyes. His chin is still pointy and his Patrician nose is just one of many telling characteristics of his refinement. But despite his arresting sharp angles and posh accent, Malfoy exudes a quiet gentleness. It appears that he’s dropped that forever present sneer he sported in school and has instead traded it for slow smiles and boisterous laughter. He watches as Malfoy taps his fingers, almost methodically, against the surface of the table.

His staring is interrupted when Hannah brings over the ginger beer and nuts, Malfoy takes a grateful swig from it and sits it down on a coaster. He places his hands on either side of the glass and taps each side three times. “I’m sober,” he announces. “Five years, twenty-eight days and, uh, thirteen hours?”

  
“Oh?” Harry asks, quite startled at Malfoy’s confession.

“The war truly messed me up. I had a rough time once my probation ended.”

Harry grimaces. “There’s no need to take that kind of trip down memory lane, Malfoy. The war is over.”

“Yes, Potter, I’m quite aware that the war is over, it’s been almost eight years,” he snaps. “But I’m still trying to live with…the aftermath. I actually had my first appointment with a Mind Healer yesterday, to…help with some of those effects.”

“I just don’t see the point in drudging up all that old rubbish.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows draw together. “ _’All that old rubbish’_? Potter, come now, don’t sit there and pretend you believe what you’re saying. If you can’t combat it in your waking life, it’ll plague you elsewhere, believe me. You should really talk to someone; I promise it’ll help.”

“What makes you think I need help?” he mumbled. Malfoy just scoffs and takes another sip of his ginger beer, not responding. Harry fidgets and before he can stop himself, he asks, “what happened after your probation?”

“That’s a rather personal question,” Malfoy drawls, nursing his ginger beer. “Are you always this crass?” 

“Only with people guising as _friends_ who randomly interrupt my lunch,” Harry says with a quirk of his eyebrows. 

Malfoy laughs over the rim of his glass and Harry perks up at the resounding sound. “That’s cute!” he says wryly. Harry can feel his face heating up once again despite his efforts. “I guess I opened the gates to this line of questioning, _Auror_ Potter. Well, truly being _free_ after probation got to my head a bit. I’ve always…struggled…with the necessity for order. After having that control taken away from me without a proper outlet and then handed back to me I didn’t know how to cope with it anymore.” Malfoy gives a short hysterical laugh, his eyes bright, and Harry begins to wonder if maybe Malfoy’s laughter was tied to nervousness.

“I was absolutely losing my mind— I felt reckless, invincible and terribly afraid of knowing that I had the rest of my life ahead of me. The rest of my life to prove myself in a world that hasn’t forgiven me for my past mistakes. How do you navigate the only world you know that now completely fucking hates your guts? The pressure was too much, so why not numb it with alcohol, muggle amphetamines, and benzos?” Harry gasps but Malfoy continues on, “I surrounded myself with some very unsavoury people, spent an obscene amount of money, slept with a lot of strangers and lost a lot of time. Isn’t that grand?”

“ _Malfoy_ ,” Harry says weakly. He can’t help but feel sorry for the man. He also can’t help wondering why on earth Malfoy wants to tell _him_ these secrets. “I’m so sorry.”

“Five years, twenty-eight days, thirteen hours, and oh, let’s say ten minutes, Potter,” Malfoy says cheerfully. He gives Harry another stunning smile that makes him squirm in his seat a bit. He really wishes Malfoy would stop smiling at him like that, it was doing weird things to him. “I don’t need your pity – I’m an open book. I’ve learned not to be ashamed of it anymore, lots of AA meetings and what not,” Malfoy says with a dismissive wave of his hand and another sip.

“How’d you, er, stop?”

“Luna,” Malfoy says simply. “Lifesaver, really.” Before Harry could ask how, Malfoy interrupts him. “And for pity’s sake, after living at the Manor my entire life it was time for a change. There’s…nothing there for me anymore,” Malfoy says gloomily.

“I’m sorry for your –” again, he is cut off by Malfoy.

“Thank you,” he says roughly, dismissively. “I moved to a new flat in Brixton recently. Exciting area if you ask me, once you learn the proper way around and get in with the locals, it's even better. I’m just minutes away from Brixton Station, you know, where the Victoria line is.”

Harry’s mouth slides open as his brain wraps around the fact that Malfoy lives in muggle London. “Excuse me?” he asks dumbly.

“Brixton, Potter. Inner South London? I love the murals, Caribbean food, the music scene, the nightclubs…” Malfoy trails off listing his favourite things happily. Harry’s unfortunately checked out as he pictures Malfoy at a nightclub in the centre of the dance floor. He can see the pulsing lights illuminating his hair, face flushed, and his sweat-sheen lithe body as he grinds into a shadowy-figure. Maybe that shadowy-figure can be Harry.

Harry chokes on his saliva and begins to cough uncontrollably. He takes several deep breaths. As he recovers, his eyes focus on Malfoy who is staring at him in disgust. “I know the district, but bloody hell, Malfoy, I just can’t imagine you moving to a muggle neighbourhood. Or to know anything about tube stations…” Malfoy’s face alights with a scowl and Harry purses his lips in a silent apology. 

“A lot can change a man, Potter, not that I need to explain that to someone incapable of grasping the concept of change.”

Harry stirs at the off-handed comment, “What makes you think I can’t grasp change?”

“Why, Potter. I can see you’re struggling. You don’t think I can see the tension in your shoulders, that haunted look in your eyes, or that slight tremble in your left hand? I know what that means. How long do you think you can keep that up before you actually kill a suspect when you’re meant to only apprehend out on the field?” 

“I…” Harry starts, but stops, his eyes narrowing. He’s an Auror for a reason and that reason is far from anything selfish. There’s still too many Death Eater sympathisers and criminals out there, wreaking havoc on people and it’s his _job_ to bring them down. Malfoy couldn’t possibly understand the kind of pressure Harry faces every day – he ran off to the Muggle world.

Despite the anger swirling around in his chest at Malfoy’s nerve, he knows the other man is…right. He keeps dancing around Kingsley’s offer for Head Auror. A position like that would mean less time on the field. Where would he release his tensions if not on the field? But he’ll be damned if he admits that to the other man. “I’m doing my job, Malfoy. I don’t know why you think you have any knowledge on what it means to be an Auror.”

“You’re missing the point. It’s not the _job_ I’m talking about, it’s your _behaviour on the job_. I bet you toe the lines of illegality all the time with a temper like yours…”

  
“I don’t have a temper!” 

“Pfft, you’re delusional, then. Your temper is almost as famous as that scar on your head.”

“How about you worry about your own problems, Malfoy?” Harry snaps. “I knew we couldn’t sit here and have a decent conversation. I think it’s time you fuck right off.”

A slow, smug smile creeps across Malfoy’s face. “Good grief, Potter, did I strike a nerve?” Malfoy asks, his voice tilting with amusement. "What were you saying about not having a temper?"

“Fuck off,” he grumbles without any bite to it. He slumps against the back of his seat.

Suddenly Malfoy’s smile deflates and he leans forward, a solemn look on his face as he folds his arms neatly on the table. “I didn’t mean to distress you, Potter. But Buddha once said, ‘ _holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.’_ Maybe you should take that into consideration the next time you feel yourself swell with anger.”

Harry looks down at his half-eaten chips, breaking his eye contact with the other man. Oddly, he feels himself calming down at Malfoy’s words. If Malfoy of all people could learn to put aside his pride and ask for help, maybe Harry should finally accept that he needs to do the same. After all, the crushing loneliness and anger were reaching a boiling point and he wanted to be better—needed to be better. “You’re a Buddhist?” 

Malfoy laughs. “Can I say yes if I read that quote in _Cosmo_  recently?”

Harry stares at him before his lips twitch up into a reluctant smile. “You’re such a prat.”

Instead of responding, Malfoy gives him another one of those smiles that sends Harry’s heart slamming against his ribcage.

***

“Why are you following me, Malfoy?”

 

“I’m bored,” Malfoy drawls. He catches up to Harry and gives him a slight sneer. When Hannah had slipped him the bill, he’d paid it quickly, despite realising that Malfoy’s ginger beer, and nuts he didn’t even touch, had been added to it. He tried to excuse himself from Malfoy as politely as possible. Their conversation though incredibly surreal, had been pleasant, almost too pleasant, and the possible meaning behind that made Harry uncomfortable. He had learned more about Malfoy as their conversation progressed. Not only did he live in muggle London, he’s also currently working at a muggle bookshop, and plays the cello and piano for muggle audiences on the weekends at a _jazz club_. Quite frankly, it’s just too much for Harry to take in. Each bit of information Malfoy feeds to him chips away at that image of the glacial man he saw at Luna and Neville’s wedding. He can see himself befriending someone like Malfoy.

He had to escape fast before he lost all common sense, but Malfoy had drained the last bit of his drink, stood with Harry, waved farewell to Hannah and followed him out the shop.

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Don’t you have work or something?

“Oh, the pot calling the kettle black? You’ve been on medical leave for two weeks, but here you are, strolling Diagon Alley of all places looking fine. So public. But I won’t tell anyone that you’re a lazy, slack-jawed lout. I just can’t promise that the rest of the world won’t.”

Harry stops in his tracks. “Where on _earth_ did you hear that?”

“Potter, it was all in the  _Daily Prophet_ , surely you search it every single day for a glimpse of your name?”

“Bugger off, Malfoy. The  _Daily Prophet_ is all rubbish and you know it. I haven’t been on medical leave; I just took the day off because I…” Harry stops himself. _I’m depressed? I wanted to buy flowers for my equally depressed friend? I’m mental like Hermione always said?_

“Because?”

Harry starts walking again, ignoring Malfoy’s question, or trying to. He changes the subject. “You’re a hard one to shake, do you know that?”

“It’s part of my charm, Potter. Anyways, who wouldn’t want a handsome blond such as myself hanging around them? You should be positively honoured.”

Harry snorts and continues down the road with Malfoy. “Believe me, Malfoy, I’ve been around better. Ah! Here we are.”

Draco’s eyes light up. “You’ve been around better… _men, blondes or both_ , Potter? Either way, it’s a terrible lie _.”_

They’re in front of a small flowers shop, _The Watering Can_. Harry doesn’t respond to Malfoy, instead entering the shop without so much as a pause.

Malfoy follows him inside. “You haven’t answered my question…”

“Harry…and Mr Malfoy?” someone gasps. A young girl pops up behind the till, her eyes wide with shock as she surveys the two men. She does recover herself just as quickly as her words spilled out. “What can I do for you two gentlemen?”

“I don’t think we’ve ever met before,” Malfoy says suspiciously. “How’d you know I was a Malfoy?” 

"Are you serious?" Harry scoffs, pointedly eyeing his hair. Malfoy rolls his eyes at the look.

“Oh, Mr Malfoy, you carry the signature white blond hair. Despite the pink – which I love by the way sir— I could spot you a mile off!” She gives them a nervous giggle and flips her long brown hair over one shoulder. Harry gives Malfoy a smug smile.

“The usual, Ashley,” Harry mutters. Ashley freezes.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I don’t recall which usual…or r-r-rather…I-I-I’m s-s-sorry,” the girl stutters and takes a deep breath. “ _What’s_ the order?”

“I guess you’re not as memorable as you like to think,” Draco says with his own smug smile. Harry ignores it. 

“It’s quite alright, Ashely. I’m picking up the flowers for my friend, Neville, remember? I know I’m a few days behind schedule with the order, I’ve just been off lately…”

“The lilies,” Ashley says, relief washing over her face. “Yes, right away, Harry.” She disappears to the back of the shop immediately, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone.

Draco’s lips are pursed and he looks around the bright, pleasantly decorated shop. “You send Neville sympathy flowers.”

Harry doesn’t know if Malfoy’s asking a question or making a statement so he shrugs, “lilies every year on Valentine’s Day.” 

“That’s truly decent of you, Potter,” Draco says with an approving nod. “But Longbottom deserves better than that.” 

“What, something besides the flowers?”

“Nothing is wrong with giving him flowers, Potter. Lilies are lovely, but why not mix it up a bit?” At Harry’s confused look Malfoy throws up his hands. “Oh, for pity’s sake! Neville is the _Professor of Herbology._ If you’re not going to get him something rare and exotic, it might as well be a pretty impressive bouquet.”

Harry shrugs and runs a hand through his hair. When Ashley returns, Malfoy sends her right back beyond the partition with such a stern assertiveness that Ashley doesn’t even hesitate or look to Harry for confirmation. He can’t help but be impressed by her…and Malfoy.

Malfoy requests a bouquet of pink Asiatic lilies, yellow carnations, lavender cushion spray chrysanthemums, yellow spray roses, and pink roses. Harry doesn’t know why he’s letting Malfoy call the shots, but he’s much too lost in the absurdity of the day so far to question it any further.

The bouquet is simply beautiful and Harry gasps as it is handed over to him. He never thought himself to be much of a flowers man, but would probably swoon if someone handed him a bouquet this pretty. “Much better,” Draco drawls.

“You always…you have excellent taste, Mr Malfoy. A wonderful selection for Harry’s friend,” Ashley says, a smile beaming from her still quite flustered face.

“Indeed,” Draco says warily, observing the girl through narrowed eyes. Harry clears his throat.

“They’re lovely, thanks for your patience, Ashley. I guess you’ll be hearing from me next year?” Harry chuckles, mostly to himself, as he puts down the necessary amount of coins. Ashley’s face still has a plastered on smile.

“Of course.”

“What the _fuck_ was her problem?” Malfoy asks as soon as the shops door swings shut.

A corner of Harry’s lip twitches upward. He realises that he likes hearing Malfoy’s posh accent curl around the dirty word, it sends a little chill down his spine. “Dunno.” 

“Miserable wench…she was absolutely _bizarre,_ that’s what she was. I don’t know how you didn’t pick up on her oddness.”

“She’s always been a little shy. I’ve been coming to this shop for three years to purchase Neville’s flowers.”

“Shyness does not excuse her behaviour. I’d pull some strings in that Auror Department of yours to get a closer look at her,” Malfoy says, all talk, as he sways his Honeydukes bag from side to side. He can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s putting on a dramatic show.

“Erm. We don’t investigate civilians just because they’re awkward.” Harry doesn’t know what else to say to that but figures he doesn’t have to at Malfoy’s exaggerated eye roll. Harry knows Malfoy’s waiting for him to say something or move from in front of the flower shop. He needs to purchase candy and a card for Neville, but doesn’t know if he wants Malfoy to continue on with him. The blond _has_ been excellent company, though. “I have to meet Neville at the Leaky, so…” 

“Oh? So soon?”

“Yeah, well…no, much later, actually. I have…some other things I need to take care of, though.”

“I see.” There’s an uncomfortable silence that hangs between them until Malfoy says, “I haven’t seen Longbottom in a few weeks, perhaps I’ll grab him a card that you can give him for me?”

Harry can’t help but gape at Malfoy. It’s been years since they’ve spoken and the last time they did it ended with Harry insulting him. But here they are, having spent nearly two hours together. He was unaware of just how engrained their social circles are and it’s almost puzzling how they haven’t crossed paths sooner than now. He’s embraced the fact that Malfoy isn’t the wanker he was when they were in school. He’s also embraced that Malfoy’s pretty damn fit, with his muggle clothing, his vibrant life in muggle Brixton, and his ordinary muggle job at _Waterstones_. Harry’s brain has yet to embrace the odd feeling that’s been stirring in his stomach since the man slid into the seat opposite him at the Leaky. There’s a familiarity there that he’s both comfortable with and terrified of. It makes him picture Malfoy perfectly dancing at nightclubs, playing his cello, and painting on lazy Sunday mornings, shirtless. It makes him wonder what the inside of Malfoy’s mouth tastes like and what his hair would feel like under his calloused hands _._  

“Unless you want to be left alone.” Malfoy says, pulling Harry from his thoughts. The blond has stopped swinging his bag and suddenly looks unsure of his footing, embarrassed, even. Harry shakes his head and swallows.

“No. I mean yes! Erm, I mean, of course you can join me, the more the merrier—” Harry takes a deep breath. What the hell, right? His day can’t get any more bizarre than this, and strangely enough, he really _is_ enjoying Malfoy’s presence. He takes a step away from the shop just as an official Ministry owl swoops down, narrowly missing Harry’s head. “Bloody hell!” he shouts as the owl comes swooping back again, dropping the letter into Malfoy’s outstretched hand before taking off once more.

“Ministry owls are such uncouth creatures,” he comments, handing the letter to a fuming Harry. Harry rips the seal and unfolds the scroll.  

> _Harry –_
> 
> _Take all the time you need. When you are ready, your job will be here._  
>  _Take care of yourself._
> 
> _Robards_

“I just need a day,” Harry muses aloud. Before he can say anything further, Malfoy has plucked the letter from Harry’s hands. He scans through it once, quickly, and shoves it back into Harry’s hands.

“Lucky Saint Potter. King of special privileges.”

“That’s not true, Malfoy. Robards knows I’ve been busting my arse in the field lately, he’s probably worried I’m going to overexert myself and get seriously injured.”

“How reckless and very telling of you,” Malfoy huffs. Harry shoots him a glare. Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Well it is.”

“Are you always this charming, or is this something you reserve for people you absolutely hate?”

“Oh, it’s all for you, Potter. Every drop of my devastating allure,” Malfoy drawls.

“I think you’re crazy,” Harry says, starting the journey towards the shops.

Malfoy’s shoulders tense. “Sorry if I come off a little barmy, Potter. I’m not really.”

Harry shoots him a puzzled look. “Er…That’s okay, I was just teasing, Malfoy. I don’t think you are...most of the time,” he says with a shrug. Malfoy visibly relaxes and Harry is struck at just how odd this entire exchange it. There's a vulnerability to Malfoy he's just noticing and Harry finds that he's curious as to why Malfoy is like this.

“Marvellous,” Malfoy starts excitedly. Harry hides his creeping smile in his scarf and rolls his eyes. “I’m rather glad we got that out the way. So you’ll let me pick the next shop?” Malfoy grins at Harry’s slow nod and begins to swing his bag again. He has an inkling that Malfoy is incredibly barmy…but he likes that about him. “I think Longbottom deserves a laugh or two this Valentine’s Day, don’t you think? Let’s see what Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes has to offer...” 

***

When they finally leave the shop, Malfoy has a gift bag filled with Patented Daydream Charms, Wakefield’s Off the Record Glow in the Dark Gum, a screaming yo-yo and an assortment of “sexy” chocolates he grabbed from the _WonderWitch_ section. Harry thought his choices were rather silly, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Malfoy’s face lights up like Christmas morning when he was in the shop. The blond is all giggles, fast talk, and bold hand movements as they play with several gadgets and contemplates the various charms and potions that went into each creation. Hours on now, Harry can without a doubt confirm that Malfoy _is_ quite barmy, and he’s captivated by him, by all of it. Malfoy’s particularly fond of the different types of candies that have them sprouting feathers and pig snouts. Harry must admit that the whole excursion in the shop with Malfoy was pleasurable. He finds it interesting that despite Malfoy having had problems in the past navigating Wizard spaces, people seem to be polite to him. Maybe times were changing.

They make their way towards the Leaky in a companionable silence. Harry eyes Malfoy fondly from the corner of his eye. The sun has started to recede on the horizon and the light falling on the pathway illuminates Malfoy’s pale skin and white blond hair. _He’s so beautiful,_ Harry muses, and this is probably the best Valentine’s Day he’s ever had, and it’s been spent in the company of his enemy. But Malfoy doesn’t feel like an enemy anymore, he feels like a promise of something amazing, if only Harry could... _Well_ , Harry starts, gnawing at his bottom lip. The need to touch him right now—just a hand across his cheek or down his arm would suffice— is devastating. He wants to moan. Well, he’s truly fucked. He just wants to put an end to this restless feeling. There's something eerily at work here and he wants to know if it's just him that's feeling this way. Granted, he'll probably be laughed at for asking, but it's a risk worth taking.

Having made up his mind, Harry suddenly stops in his tracks and pulls Malfoy to a semi-secluded, bushy spot near the Leaky.

“You're not quite all bad, Malfoy," he says before losing his nerve. Malfoy puffs his thin chest out, a sneer gracing his aristocratic face.

"Of course, Potter. I'm  _excellent_ company. You should take note of that, I'm sure it's a stark difference from your usual crowd."

Harry laughs, slow and warm, his eyes searching Malfoy's storm grey ones. "I'm just a bit surprised that you approached me at all today. We've had such a volatile past. I...just commend you on being the bigger person here.” Malfoy's mouth slides open, apparently taken aback.

“I told you already,” he says quietly, a bit of a defensive edge colouring his words. “It was the polite thing to do.”

Harry crosses his arms. “You’ve been with me for over six hours now.”

“What of it?” Malfoy shoots back.

"You don't think it's a bit strange, Malfoy, that we've been together for more than six hours and haven't tried to hex each other?" Harry asks, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Malfoy fidgets, drawing in a deep breath. Harry steels himself against the impending response. He thinks,  _he_ _ll, in for a Knut_. “Merlin, this is probably going to sound quite utterly ridiculous, Potter, but,” the blond man pauses, chewing relentlessly at his plump lower lip before taking a deep breath and blurting, “I just had the sudden urge to be near you.” Malfoy’s pale cheeks flush.

“Er...?” Harry says flinching back, his eyes widening. 

“Yes…” Malfoy whispers. “I’ve felt—I’ve felt it all day, but, I don’t know. I just, I wasn't going to say anything and now you've gone and..." he trails off and shakes his head. "I saw you across the Leaky and at first I was so _angry_  to see you _._ I'd spent so much time in the Muggle world, I'd forgotten that my rare trips to the Wizarding world might mean running into  _you._  I wanted to be cruel,” Malfoy says softly, looking away. “I haven’t forgiven you yet for insulting me at Luna’s wedding.”

“I’m really sorry.”

He shrugs and finally looks at him with a smile. “I wanted to hit you that night, you know? I'm actually glad I just walked away. Sobriety teaches you a lot of patience, Potter. _Fuck_ ,” Harry gets that tingle down his spine again at Malfoy’s use of foul language. Harry leans forward to tuck a strand of hair behind Malfoy’s ear. “This is so bizarre...all of it. I just, _Merlin_ , seeing you sitting there at the Leaky, well, I just wanted to be in your presence. It felt...like the right thing to do. Fucking hell, Potter. I'm standing here sharing... _feelings_...and all you're doing is staring at me through those God awful NHS glasses, Potter! Do you have _anything_ even remotely intelligent to say to me about all this shite?”

“Me too,” Harry whispers. Malfoy rolls his eyes and Harry reaches out a hand to run down the length of Malfoy’s left arm. He doesn’t know what he's doing, but like Malfoy said, it all feels right when his other hand meets Malfoy's right arm. They're locked in an embrace. “I felt drawn to you from the moment you sat across from me, and Merlin, Malfoy, I’ve had a surprisingly good time with you. I wouldn’t be opposed to doing this again. _Soon._  Under planned circumstances, of course.”

Malfoy’s eyes sparkle as he smiles slyly at Harry. “You know, Potter, I think I'd like that. A lot.” Malfoy steps closer to Harry in the small space between them and Harry beams at him, his heart thudding against his ribcage as his gaze fixes on Malfoy's pale, pointed face. Those delicate features under that coloured fringe makes him dizzy with want. He fixates on Malfoy's plump lips, the bottom one quivering slightly under Harry's gaze. Then, their eyes meet once more.

Everything just feels...so _intense_. So _right_. He leans forward, his lips just grazing Malfoy’s when—

“Harry…. _Draco?_ What the _hell_?” says a startled voice. They both whip around to see a pale Neville peering at them with wide, shocked eyes from behind the bushes.

“Neville,” Harry starts. "Er, you're early."

“Hello, Longbottom,” Malfoy says smoothly.

“Well,” Neville started, clearing his throat. “Why don’t you both join me inside, yeah? It seems we have much to talk about.”

* * *

**THREE DAYS BEFORE VALENTINE’S DAY**

Harry is standing in front of the _Waterstones_ on Piccadilly. He makes up his mind and heads inside. Draco’s favourite colleague, Michelle, sees him immediately, gasps, and rushes towards him. She is short, barely reaching Harry’s elbow and is stocky, with long curly hair and pouty lips. Harry never cared for her due to her incessant need to gossip but Draco is absolutely smitten with her, the both of them often going out to the cinema and dinner together.

“Harry! What are you doing here?” Her voice is overly pleasant but Harry can see the panic in her eyes. He can also smell the fear radiating off of her.

“Did he tell you to be his bloody watchdog, Michelle?” Harry says dryly, pushing pass the girl. She flinches, as if she’s been physically slapped by Harry’s harsh words.

“Fuck off, Harry, Draco isn’t even here…”

“You’re lying,” he says, turning around to face the girl. “I know he works on Wednesdays.”

“Harry! Stop, you can’t _be_ here! You don’t understand.” She tries to grab his wrist, but he shoves her away.

Harry continues on towards the till. It is then that he sees Draco, helping a customer. He wants to hex Michelle but knows using magic against a powerless muggle would surely land him being stripped of his Auror badge. He notices before barging up to the till that Draco has charmed his fringe from the acid green he had been sporting for the last couple of weeks to a drab blue. He has bags under his eyes and the perpetual smile that usually graces his soft pink lips is contorted into a grimace. Regardless, Harry can’t help but notice how striking he is in his off-white Aran jumper and worn black denims. Anger grips him.

“Why are you doing this? WHY?” Harry shouts.

Draco makes no move at acknowledging Harry, but the woman Draco has finished with jumps at Harry’s words and throws him a dirty look as she bustles away.

“Why are you doing this, Draco?” Harry cries again, attempting to jump the queue. “Just talk to me, please – I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Harry shouts, as two pairs of strong hands reach out to pull him out the store and quite literally toss him onto the street.

“Fuck off, bruv! Or we’ll call the police!” shouts one of the security guards.

“I AM the bloody police!” Harry shouts back. They both shake their heads at him, staring him down as he picks himself off the ground only to meet the eyes of curious pedestrians. He huffs and takes off into a run from the store.

***

Harry is nearly in tears as he crosses the street from the tube station. Camden Town is loud and rowdy as the streets and pubs bustle with muggles, mostly obnoxious uni kids out enjoying the few days before Valentine’s Day. He is just round the corner from _The Worlds End,_ when he hears his name being called. Turning around, he is faced by Dean Thomas and standing beside him, Seamus Finnegan. 

“Harry! I thought that was you, mate! What are you doing?” shouts Dean over the noise, he claps Harry on the back with one hand as he pulls from his menthol _Windsor King_ cigarette with the other. Harry gives him a small smile.

“Just heading to my flat, s’all. It’s been a horrid day. I just want to go to bed…”

“Nonsense!” roared Dean, “Come into the pub with us, drinks on me, mate…”

“Dean’s going to propose to Ginny on Valentine’s Day,” Seamus announces rather meekly. He hardly makes eye contact with Harry, instead shifting nervously in place. Dean starts to laugh.

“Really?” Harry starts, surprised, clapping Dean on the shoulder. “Mate, that’s bloody brilliant, well done! Yeah, of course I can do a celebratory drink.”

When Dean is done smoking, Harry follows them into the pub. It’s extremely packed, with metal music blasting from unseen speakers. Harry fights through the crowd to the nearest bar. Before he can open his mouth, Dean has already garnered the attention of a bartender and soon there is an IPA being shoved into his numb hands. He takes a large gulp of the drink. Dean is chuckling and his words are falling on Harry’s deaf ears. Seamus is on Dean’s other side, nursing his drink close to his body. Their eyes meet.

“Harry, mate, did you hear me?” Dean is slapping Harry on his shoulder.

“What?”

“I said things will get better for you. I know your break up with Draco was hard, but c’mon, it’s for the best.” Dean takes a swig of his beer, the foam clinging to his upper lip which he quickly licks off. “Honestly, everyone thought you’d kill each other!”

“Yeah,” Seamus says quietly, staring at the ground, “you guys were wrong for one another.”

“We spent four years together,” Harry says.

“Four years of _hell_ together,” Seamus corrects.

“It wasn’t hell.”

“Yes it was, Harry,” Seamus says vehemently. “And you both got out at the right time. You both deserve to find someone to make you happy.”

“No, no, I can admit that not all of it was hell, I’ll give you that, Harry,” Dean says, shooting him a grim look over his glass. He takes a sip and claps Harry on the back. “Enough now. Drink.”

\---

He stops in the mailroom to check his muggle post for any bills for the flat, quite drunk from his impromptu outing with Dean and Seamus. One celebratory drink quickly turned into many in attempt to drown out his own misery. The neighbour, a muggle named Markus, is also checking his mail. He pulls out a thick piece of parchment, but pays no attention to it. Harry is stunned when the material catches his eye, but Markus tucks it under his armpit with the rest of his mail. He thinks that perhaps Markus is subscribed to some weird muggle newsletter. He does not know what it is, and so he does not ask.

Markus instead holds up a red and white card, tiny hearts everywhere. He fans it back and forth in front of Harry’s face. “The only Valentine’s Day cards I get are from my mum. How pathetic is that? Lucky you’ve got Draco, eh?” he says a bit wistfully. “Any crazy plans for him?”

His eyes begin to sting and he tries to swallow down his anguish, but finds that his throat is dry. He coughs roughly and can only lie. “No, we’re going to stay in.” He slides by Markus with a pursed mouth and a slight shrug of his shoulder.

Before he reaches the stairs, Markus cries out, “Oh and Harry, let Draco know it’s training for our rugby match with the twats from Chelsea! Next Saturday. We’re starting to miss his smart-arse! And really, God save us if they win again—we need him!” Markus is chuckling. All Harry can do is nod curtly and turn to head to the third floor. As he hears Markus shut the door to his own flat, Harry falls against the wall. His heart so heavy that his knees shake under the weight of it. He braces a hand against the cool feel of the wall and takes a deep breath, head bowed. Draco left this life behind –he was coming out of his shell, making progress at expanding his social circle, and was tits over arse in love with him. But Harry destroyed everything.

* * *

**TWO DAYS BEFORE VALENTINE’S DAY**

Harry follows Ron home after work. He tends to a steaming cuppa as Hermione busies herself with dinner preparations and Ron takes a quick shower. Rose has been whisked away by her grandparents for a few days, offering some relief to her mother. Hermione’s six months along in her pregnancy and she is huge – her belly protrudes more than it did when she was pregnant with Rose at six months. Harry fusses over her as he usually does when he sees her, but Hermione quickly shuts him down and tells him she’s fully capable of making dinner this pregnant.

“Honestly, Harry, you’re worse than Ron.”

He’s seated at their granite-top island when Hermione places a bowl of salad in front of him. “I really want to get this resolved with him – bloody hell, Hermione, Valentine’s Day is two goddamn days away. I keep trying to get a hold of him. He’s closed his Floo, my owls come back unopened and  _Confunded_ , and security at his job keeps throwing me out. It’s been six bloody days and I haven’t been able to reach him at all. If I could just—just _talk_ to him – tell him how sorry I am, I—” a sob has escaped the back of his throat, a hot pressure pressing against the back of his nose and eyes. He can feel the threat of tears. “I want to tell him that it’s all my fault, that I’m sorry I hurt him and I can’t think or sleep or fucking… _exist_ without him.” 

“Oh, Harry…” Hermione whispers. He chances a look at her. She’s desperately trying to keep calm, but her features crumble around the edges with worry and sadness.

“I love him,” he says, his tone desperate. “I just want him to come home. He came home drunk, and—I wasn’t thinking.”

Hermione raises a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose and takes a shuddering breath. She has now begun to openly cry, much to Harry’s distress. He doesn’t know what to say to calm her, because he hasn’t been able to keep his own feelings in check. He instead lets his face fall into open palms as he sobs uncontrollably. Hermione comes around the island and wraps her arms around him the best way possible, her swollen belly pressing into the back of his hands. He pulls his hands from his face and wraps his arms around her waist as he rests his head on her belly. She immediately begins to stroke his hair.

“Merlin _, I can’t do this_! We have to tell him!” Harry cringes at Ron’s bark, no doubt frustrated as he enters the kitchen to see both his wife and best friend wrapped around one another in a fit of tears. 

“Ron!” Hermione hisses, her voice full of warning. 

“He has a right to know, Hermione. I can’t keep this from him, _we_ shouldn’t keep this from him!” 

“What do you mean?” Harry raises his head to give Ron a bleary look, suddenly confused and interested in their exchange. Hermione has removed her hand from his unruly hair, her face becoming withdrawn. She looks everywhere but at Ron and Harry.

“Harry,” she starts off weakly, but the rest dies in her throat.

“He went to some forsaken clinic…I don’t know…got himself obliviated,” Ron is gesticulating and continues for her. “Malfoy was completely fucked up for it, Harry.” He’s leaning against the island, exhaustion and shame written across his freckled face. He runs a hand through his red hair.

“What?” Harry repeats again, confused.

“It’s here somewhere,” Ron says suddenly, he pulls open and rummages through a kitchen drawer and softly says _ah!_ as he pulls out a piece of parchment with fancy script on it. It’s like the piece he saw Markus with, and it’s addressed to Hermione. Harry scans the card—   

> _Dear Mrs. Hermione Granger-Weasley,_
> 
> _Draco L. Malfoy has had his relationship with Harry J. Potter erased from his memory._
> 
> _Please never mention their relationship to him again._
> 
> _Thank You,_
> 
> _Lacuna Magic, Inc_.

“What the _fuck_ is this?” 

“Harry,” Hermione starts, uncertainty permeating her voice but the words spill from her. “You and Draco, well, you were having problems and you know how impulsive he is…you said he was _using_ again…”

“He was going through a rough patch!”

“Mate,” Ron started, his expression a mix of pity and disbelief, “he was high and drunk every day, you couldn’t even bring him around the family anymore.”

Hermione jumps in. “Harry, he realised he couldn’t get better if he still had memories of you, so he was professionally obliviated. They placed a repellent charm on him so if you ever try to contact him or find him, you’ll be redirected or he’ll simply look pass you. If you two are in public together, Malfoy has a permanently altered Notice-Me-Not charm on him, people who aren’t considered friends or family to you both will not _know_ it’s Malfoy…but that’s only if you two are together among the general public,” Hermione explains in a shaky voice. Harry shivers.

“He did what?” Harry asks numbly, the words refusing to sink into his brain.

“He had himself obliviated, Harry,” Ron says bluntly. There’s a hushed silence that falls around them and Harry realises that he’s holding his breath. He breaths deeply and looks up at Ron, who winces at once. “Harry, I mean, this past month has been terrible for you and Draco, you said so yourself many times! He was driving you spare, mate. You said things were strained ever since, well, _you know_ ,” Ron says, looking away. It was a difficult subject and quite possibly the catalyst to the end of their relationship, he knew why Ron didn’t want to bring it up.

“We…we were supposed to _work_ things out,” he responds tenderly, clenching the parchment to his chest. “I was going to apologise. I was going to…I was going to change…I was going to save him.”

Hermione cards a hand through his hair suddenly, causing Harry to jerk away from the touch. She pulls her hand back and drops it to her side. “Harry, love, I’m not saying you two didn’t love each other, but I just think you both were indulging one another’s unhealthy behaviours for a long time. Nothing would have stopped him from doing this. He needed to see a Mind Healer…you need to see a Mind Healer.”

Harry fists the offensive letter. But not before he realises that the address is listed on the other side of the parchment. He doesn’t want to hear about a bloody Mind Healer. Going to see one had been the basis of many arguments with Draco, and Harry had said no every single time. And now it was his fault that this has happened. The realisation burns every fibre of his being as everything is now sinking in. His heart is breaking. _This is all my fault,_ his mind screams and he squeezes his eyes shut and takes long, shuddering breaths. He’s lost Draco, for good. It was over _. It was really over._ He leans forward with a sharp cry as he clenches his chest, causing Hermione to jump and place a consoling hand on his shoulder. The hot and heavy pain continues to shoot through him and he gulps for air. “No. No, this is my fault, I did this to Draco and I…I was going to…him and I… _no,”_ Harry sobs.

“Whatever you were going to do, you don’t have to do it, mate. It’s time to move on, you’re finally free,” Ron encourages.

“Ron, please,” Hermione pleads. She lifts Harry’s chin and he meets her eyes carefully. “Harry. This is not your fault. This is no one’s fault— relationships end.”

“Not like this, Hermione! This has to be the most fucked up thing Malfoy has ever pulled.”

“RON!”

“ _No_ , he didn’t do this,” Harry says quietly, pulling away from her and shaking his head.

“He did, mate. You’re better off.”

“Harry, it’s not your fault,” Hermione says pleadingly.

Their words fall on deaf ears because Harry is too busy replaying his last encounter with Draco in his mind. Shame, guilt, and overwhelming disgust slams into him and he gags. Hermione jumps back at the noise and is just mere centimetres away from the bile that splashes onto her kitchen floor.

Ron pulls out his wand from his back pocket to vanish the mess. The silence hangs heavy around them.

* * *

**THE DAY BEFORE VALENTINE’S DAY**

Before him is a maze of a hallway, twists and turns of white walls and white carpet. He feels claustrophobic despite the wideness of the hallways. He follows the minimal signage, informing him that _Lacuna Magic, Inc._ is just ahead.

He gasps as the door opens for him. Sitting at the reception desk is Ginny Weasley. The phone is ringing beside her and she answers it with a cherry, “Lacuna Magic Inc, how may I help you?” Her flaming red hair is pulled up into a tight, pristine bun and she is wearing a little bit of makeup, just the amount Harry used to love on her – the shiny substance on her lips, a dash of subtle eye shadow and eyeliner. She is dressed in crisp white scrubs. When their eyes make contact, Ginny’s lips press so tightly together they nearly disappear. She drops the phone back onto the receiver.

“Do you mind telling me what the fuck is going on?” he screams. Ginny cringes and nearly topples out of her seat.

“Harry—”

“You knew. Goddamn it, you _all_ knew.” He advances to the reception desk, planting both hands onto the surface and leaning forward. He can feel his magic swirling angrily around him as he stares daggers into her eyes. The phone beside her explodes, sending pieces scattering across the room. At the same time of the explosion, Ginny jumps from her seat, arms coming up across her face as the shards fly. Harry doesn’t care if it hits him. He would deserve it. The people in the waiting area are now screaming, staring or murmuring. One woman, who is cradling a box of baby items, bursts into uncontrollable tears.  

“Harry,” comes another voice. It is airy but affectionate. Harry spins on his heels and is now facing Luna. “I need you to relax, Harry.” She pulls out her wand and with a soft _reparo_ the pieces of the phone come back together and it begins to ring. Luna flicks her wand again to silence the phone. 

“Luna!” Ginny has recovered from her initial shock and is now seated once more, her hands shaking as he surveys the blonde. “I’m so sorry for the noise, I was just about to escort Harry—”

“—It’s quite alright, Ginny, I can take it from here. Please do not forget to obliviate Mr. Osborne and Ms. Nelly of this little scene,” she says, gesturing behind her. 

“Thank you, of course. Blimey, Luna, how you handled that was beautiful to watch.” The awe in Ginny’s voice is not at all missed by Harry.

“Thank you, Ginny,” Luna responds stiffly and places a hand on Harry’s arm. “Come now, Harry.”

“No.” He shakes his head violently. “ _You’re_ in on this, too. How the fuck could you do this to me, Luna? _Tell me_! Tell me, damn it. Tell me,” Harry pants, his vision narrowing into a tight tunnel and the sound of rushing water fills his ears. “Oh god, I can’t breathe. I can’t.” He’s having a panic attack in the middle of this godforsaken office and he vaguely registers that Luna has placed a hand on each of his shoulders.

“Harry, please try to remain calm and take a deep breath.”

The last thing he registers is Luna's panic-stricken eyes. He gladly welcomes blissful darkness.

\---

He awakes some time later to find himself sprawled out on a bed. Luna is sitting beside him with a forlorn expression that looks out of place on her usually cheerful face. Harry tries to recall when the last time he legitimately saw a smile on Luna's face was, and can't.

She launches into an explanation of how Draco happened upon her facility. Her company is one that caters to magical folk and muggles, offering the lure of muggle medicine similar to convulsive-shock therapy to rid people of unwanted memories while simultaneously treating depression, both mild and manic. She swears she did not offer the services to Draco, but that he was instead referred to the facility by a colleague. _Probably fucking Michelle,_ Harry can’t help but think. She explains to him that for magical folk, it is a combination of convulsive-shock therapy and Obliviation. She explains to Harry that Draco felt that he was no longer able to stay in a relationship with Harry. He wanted freedom from his pain and told her that he could not escape it if Harry remained a part of his life. He wanted to heal from his losses. They both could not confront their trauma from the war together nor could they work together as partners anymore, so he would have to combat it alone, and he needed to do so with a clean slate. The lack of trust, the drug and alcohol abuse, and the anger was becoming too much for Draco. Especially the lack of communication.

“I’m so sorry, Harry.” He knows she’s sorry they’ve kept this a secret from him for so long. She claims that they’re sworn to secrecy with each patient. It is only because someone has told Harry that this loophole has allowed her to breech the code of secrecy. "This never happens."

“Who else knows?” 

Luna rests a hand on his arm and Harry pulls away from the touch. She gives a resigned sigh. “Dean and Seamus work here along with Ginny.” Harry gasps, betrayal twisting in his stomach as sharp as a knife. “All of your close friends, colleagues and family members who knew of the relationship were informed not to mention to you that Draco erased you from his mind. If people encounter Draco and they are aware of the relationship, Draco has an altered Notice-Me-Not charm on him, people simply forget or lose interest in that bit of news. If you two are in public together for some reason, you are…masked in your identity to him. Sometimes even invisible according to proximity. And of course, a legally binding gag order was sent to all media outlets about it. Not a peep from anyone. Until now, unfortunately.” 

_Erased you from his mind._

Harry’s face crumbles. “Fuck,” he gasps, “ _FUCK_. He hated me...he absolutely fucking  _hated_ me. What have I done?” He begins to sob uncontrollably and places a balled-up fist against his mouth to stifle the horrible sounds ripping from him. Luna once again places a hand on his arm, as if this small touch will console him completely. After a few moments, however, he is calmer and able to sit up on the bed.

“He didn’t hate you, Harry. He just couldn’t handle the loneliness and the breakup on his own.”

“It was all my fault, Luna. All of it. I did this to Draco…I didn’t _mean_ for things to becomes so out of control. I-I didn’t _know_. I didn't  _mean_ to hurt him the way I did,” Harry says tearfully. “I’m so fucked up. It must have been so easy for him to come here.” It wasn’t a question, just plain truth tumbling from his numb lips.

“I can honestly say Harry, that no, this was not an easy decision for Draco. He visited our office four times before actually going through with the procedure.”

He draws in a deep breath and grasps Luna’s hand. “Luna. Do it to me, please. Luna, please. Erase him,” he begs through staccato breaths. 

“I was going to recommend it. You have to understand, this breech of security has never happened before, and _Lacuna_ has been in business for nearly five years. I completely understand and strongly recommend that we administer the procedure on you.” She’s all business now, her watery blue eyes piercing through Harry.

"Can you tell me how this is going to work?"

"We'll start with your most recent memories and go backwards -- more or less. There is an emotional core to each of our memories, did you know? As we eradicate this core, it starts its degradation process -- by the time you wake up in the morning, all memories we've targeted will have withered and disappeared. As in a dream upon waking. I know you’ve been hurt by Draco's decision, but once the procedure is administered on you, there will be no need for the Notice Me Not charms, you will not remember any romantic memories or feelings…what we can promise you is a fresh start from all of this...this whole experience, it’s definitely a trauma we’d love to erase for you."

That word stings him again, _erase._ But he’s scheduled for tonight, the day before Valentine’s Day. Just as he leaves, Luna tells him they will keep the office opened after hours for him, in case he needs further counselling. If not, he is to gather every shred of evidence that his relationship with Draco existed.

“What will you do with our stuff?”

“We will destroy them and whatever feeling each item has for you so you won’t be confused by their unexplainable presence in your home.” Her matter-of-fact tone crushes the little bit of energy left in Harry.

***

“We’re going to take excellent care of you, Harry, don’t you worry.” Dean’s voice is soft and reassuring as he leans over Harry who is resting against pillows. There’s soft music playing in the background, no doubt Dean’s attempt to soothe him _._ He sighs softly as Dean straightens the large metal headpiece sitting atop his head. It’s connected to a bunch of wires leading to Dean’s laptop and the electric shock machine. He’s also connected to an IV and a heart monitor. He was encouraged to put on what he usually wears to bed, so Harry has opted to just wear his usual boxers and t-shirt. He’s comfortable in their...his...bed despite the beeps and whirring of the machines going on around him. The flat is nice and pristine, just the way Draco liked it. 

“Where was Draco when he did this?” Harry suddenly asks.

Dean looks uncomfortable. “Malfoy Manor.”

Harry grimaces. What poetic justice. Draco went back to the one place that was the start of all his problems so he can have Harry erased to start over at square one. “Where is he now?”

“He found a flat in Brixton again, actually. Uh, Luna said just yesterday,” Dean responds, looking away from Harry.

Harry nods. That makes sense. Draco’s always been drawn to the area. Harry swallows hard, and hates himself when his voice wavers in fear as he asks, “Will this hurt?”

“No, mate, not at all! You’re going to sleep through it. Just relax, Harry.” Dean clears his throat and then sits back, his face calm. “Before I put you under, I’m going to show you each item you’ve gathered of Draco’s and record the emotional reaction you have from it, okay? This is the only tough part, mate, I swear.”

Dean holds up a stuffed teddy bear that’s missing its left eye. Harry immediately sucks in a breath. It was from the carnival he took Draco to on their first date. The laptop starts to beep.

“Good, good, let’s move on to the next one.” Dean holds up Harry’s photo album. Over the years he has added pictures he found of Sirius and Remus before closing Grimmauld Place, the Weasleys, and pictures of Draco. There’s one picture in particular that he loves. It’s of an eight-year-old Draco waving brightly at the camera, his chubby cheeks and baby soft hair having immediately pulled at Harry’s heartstrings. He had nicked it from Draco’s old bedroom at the Manor when he wasn’t looking.

Dean shows him a drawing Draco made of Harry sleeping. He holds up Neville and Luna’s wedding invite, more photographs, books, poems, letters, anniversary, Christmas, and birthday gifts. He holds up clothing and shoes and more art work. The whole process takes a little over an hour. And finally, Dean is holding _the box._

It’s small. A simple black velvet box that fits in the palm of his hand. He opens it to reveal a stunning wide platinum band. On the inside, there is a small, delicate, tiny engraving that expands with a simple spell from one of Draco’s favourite poems: _I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul._ He bought the ring nearly eight months ago, before the relationship took a turn for the worse. He had played with the idea of giving it to Draco on Valentine’s Day while they demolished takeaway and watched a shitty film at home. He wanted the blond to know that even though things were falling apart, he still loved him and wanted to fight for him because he believed their relationship to be _forever._ He had promised. At this, the laptop goes wild.

“I’m so sorry, mate,” Dean says quietly, tenderly touching Harry’s shoulder. “I didn’t know.”

“I love him, Dean.” 

Dean shakes his head and says again, “I’m sorry.”

Harry releases a choked sob. “If this is what Draco wants, I’m obliged to give it to him. He was right, you know, I’m a _heartless fucking coward_.”

“Harry,” Dean starts, placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You’re the bravest man I know. I know you’re hurting right now, you love Draco and I know he loved you too. These things happen, Harry. It’ll be all over soon and you’ll be better for it, mate. I promise. Now I want you to count backwards from ten for me.” Dean draws out his wand.

Harry blinks back tears. “Ten…Nine…Eight…” Before his eyes flutter shut, the last thing he thinks of is Draco’s soft, smiling face. 

* * *

Draco stumbles into the flat, kicking off his leather boots and tossing his matching jacket on the coat rack near the front door. He shoots Harry a sneer and rolls his eyes. “Look at you! I bet in your wormy little brain you’re trying to figure out— _‘did he fuck someone tonight?’_ ”

Harry is lounging in one of the many armchairs in the living room clenching a glass of Ogden’s as he watches Draco’s drunk and stumbling form. It’s a week until Valentine’s Day, and there was little to celebrate for. He’s even taken a two week leave of absence from work to spend time with Draco, maybe get things between them back on track, but it's hopeless. The last six months’ have been completely strained between them—ever since – well, Harry can’t even bring himself to think it. It’s only for the last month that they’ve been arguing almost every single day. Harry blames the alcohol and drugs Draco has turned to these last six months to numb his pain. Harry tried to suggest they _both_ go to a Mind Healer, but Draco now scoffs at the idea, claiming he can’t be saved. Harry has threatened to leave him if he doesn’t stop, but his threat is only met with mild irritation and maybe a sloppy blow job from the blond to ease the tension for another day. Sometimes, after a heavy night of drinking, Draco stumbles in and throws a punch or nasty hex. Harry’s temper flares too quickly for him to control and the fight turns violent in a heartbeat. They’ve gone to bed with split lips and black eyes more times this month than he can count.

He feels like he’s sixteen again staring down his archenemy in the middle of the toilets—a monster who would soon allow an army of Death Eaters into Hogwarts to murder the people he cares about. Every cruel word exchanged between the two of them is a trigger for him. He feels the same stirrings of hatred—it makes him feel pathetic and lash out and say terrible things he regrets the next day.

Harry hates himself for feeling this way because if he thinks hard enough – if he relaxes himself enough, really – he knows Draco isn’t a monster. He knows he was just a boy then, just a scared little boy given a task he couldn’t possibly fulfil. And in some ways, Draco is still just a scared boy, ruled by fear and uncertainty. But now that fear and uncertainty is personified as Harry. He knows it’s him. Harry wants to believe he can save Draco—he knows it’s possible— or at least he tells himself this every day. It doesn’t matter how many sleepless nights Harry’s had because he’s up trying to compose apologies to the other man, the apologies never cross his lips the following day. He allows the wounds of his words to stay wide open and fester. He knows that these wounds are slowly killing Draco – they have been killing him for the last six months. Harry’s sick to his stomach at the horrid shift in their relationship, and he can’t stop it. It’s as if some outside force has taken over his will to right things and the situation is too far gone now to go back. 

“No, Draco. I assumed you fucked someone tonight. Isn’t that how you get people to like you?”

“Fuck you,” he hisses, “I thought you knew me better than that.” 

“I don’t know you at all, apparently. You said you didn’t want to be _this_ person.”

“I know exactly what I said and who I want to be! I don’t need some preachy sanctimonious prat breathing down my bloody neck all the time trying to change me.” Draco snaps, taking a few more steps into the living room. He stumbles and slides against the wall to the floor. He turns his body so that his head falls back to thump against the wall, exposing his long, pale neck. “You’re suffocating me, Potter.”

“We’re back to _Potter, again_?” Harry asks scornfully. Draco fixes him with a hateful glare. 

“You’ll _always_ be Potter to me.”

Flinging his glass against the wall, Harry is off the couch and in front of Draco in mere seconds. He grabs the front of Draco’s shirt, the flimsy fabric ripping, and hauls him up to slam against the wall so hard that the items on the shelves beside them fall to the floor. “Are you _fucking_ someone else?”

“NO. But I wish I were. Merlin knows I need the fucking escape!” Draco slurs, twisting in his grip. Up close he now notices that Draco stinks of vodka, his eyes wide, pupils blown and his nose red. Harry knows that Draco is high again and that he’s spent the evening snorting whatever was placed before him, probably riding whatever cock was nearby.

“Be a _man_ , Draco! No…be an _actual_ fucking decent human being for once in your pathetic life _._ If you want out of this relationship just tell me. Don’t go fucking someone behind my back and bring your filthy arse back to my home so you can _lie to my face!”_ he screams hysterically. Draco’s expression changes from anger to fear to pure hatred as he struggles against Harry.

“I’m not lying you arse! And how fucking _dare_ you talk to me like this!” 

“ _Fuck you!”_ Harry releases a sob and clenches at the ripped thin material of Draco’s shirt and shakes him. “Fuck you for doing this to me!” With those words hanging in the air, Harry thrusts his fingers into Draco’s hair and pulls him forward into a painful kiss that’s mixed with liquor, tears, and the distinct, velvety taste that is Draco.

From the beginning, their first kiss was a culmination of hatred, sexual tension and curiosity for one another—it was painful, sharp, and delectably teetering on the edge of dangerous. Everything between them was explosive. They had to learn gentleness and compassion towards one another after their initial shock of falling together. They quickly found that they were quite emotional with one another, whether they were fighting or making up with one another, the spark between them was undeniable and addictive. Harry loved and sorely missed the gentle, passionate moments. Kissing Draco, on so many occasions, provided Harry the possibility to be reborn into something pure and beautiful and he missed it, missed those sweet kisses so much. That kind of feeling was over now, forever lost in the tide of mistrust and anger. It’s brutal, now, that old spark. Just as brutal as their fucking. Mindless and numb, rutting against one another in the hopes that they both come quickly and separate so they can both begin to breathe again.

The blond hardly has any time to accept the kiss before Harry pulls away quickly, only to roughly pull Draco away from the wall and fling him over the back of their sofa.

“Ow! Fuck, _Harry_ …” Draco hisses as his chest collides against the edge. Harry is pressing his full body weight against Draco now, his hands gripping Draco’s upper arms, nails digging into the delicate, pale flesh. “Stop! STOP! You’re fucking hurting me, you arsehole!” Draco shouts. He struggles against him, trying to push Harry off but the blond is sluggish in his inebriated state. Harry has always been the stronger one between them, despite Draco’s slight height advantage. Draco tries to right himself, but Harry doesn't relent, his chest pressed against Draco's back to hold him down as his hands scramble to undo the buttons of Draco’s trousers. _"Harry,"_ Draco pants, his voice now low and tight with want. Harry pulls the clothing down along with his pants in a jerky motion. When freed, Harry’s hand grips Draco’s semi-hard cock, the other still keeping Draco pressed against the sofa. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Draco moans, his eyes fluttering shut. He abandons Draco’s hip so he can work his own free, his hardness unbearable against the zipper. He always did love when Draco would swear. Muttering a spell so his hand is slick with conjured lube, he begins to fist his cock, trying to stay in time with his hand's movement on Draco's, so slick already with pre-come. He brings his lips close to the shell of Draco’s ear.

“Did someone leave you open for me, Malfoy?” His voice is cold and he is caught between what he wants to do more – fuck Malfoy into the back of this sofa or cause him real unadulterated pain. The dormant anger he’s been holding in all day comes blazing out in all its horrible glory tonight. Harry wants to _hurt_ Draco, wants to make him feel as miserable as he feels. But he can't...he  _can't_  do it. Draco chokes back a moan and fiercely shakes his head. Harry grunts, “Liar,” as he forces Draco to widen his stance with a push from his knee. 

He grasps his cock more firmly, once more slicking back the mix of lube and pre-come onto his shaft, and presses the tip of his cock into Draco.

“Potter. Just…fuck…yes,  _Harry_ , fuck me...Do it. _Fucking do it,_ ” Draco whines. Harry bites down hard on Draco’s shoulder and pushes forward with difficulty. With a hard snap of his hips, he’s to the hilt and the other man spasms around him, a cry erupting from him that shortly turns to whimpers. Draco’s hands have come up to grip the material of the sofa, knuckles whitening. He pulls back just to the tip and slams into Draco’s body again.

Sometimes in their rush, two fingers would be all Draco had the patience for. This, however, was the first time he’s taken Draco without proper preparation. He’s lost in his desire to think twice about that, and although a part of him knows that things will never be the same between them after this, he refuses to be gentle. Draco moans and hisses, egging him on as Harry’s hands grip his hips so tightly that he knows he will leave bruises. He removes one hand to snake around to tend to Draco’s neglected cock as Draco wildly, greedily pushes back onto his cock. “ _Harry_ , yes,  _fuck_ ,” he whimpers as Harry strokes him. Harry has pulled back again, pausing, the tip of his cock nearly coming out as he stills. Draco gasps, his body shaking uncontrollably as Harry’s hand curls around one protruding hipbone, holding him in place before slamming back into him. He removes his hand from Draco’s cock, opting to twist his pre come and lube-slicked fingers into the soft waves of blond hair, yanking his head back so hard Draco screams. Harry can see the flush of his cheeks, the sweat building on his forehead, the tremble of his lips. His own brow has started to collect sweat and Draco’s soft, strangled noises against the sofa has made him harder. “ _Harry, please, please…oh, fuck...fuck!_ ” 

“Please what, you _fucking bastard?_ ” Harry hisses, whipping his hips sharply. Soon Draco’s screaming and coming so hard that his face is blood red, the tendons in his neck tightening and spasming as his hole clenches around Harry's cock. Harry doesn't think he's ever seen Draco come this hard. He continues to scream himself hoarse, head still pulled back in Harry's grip as Harry continues to thrust into him.

" _Yes_ , come on, _come on_ ," Draco cries, this voice raw. "Do it, Harry, fucking come for me," he says. Soon Harry is following him, fingers unclenching in Draco's hair so he can bury his head into the back of Draco’s neck as his orgasm rips through him. They stand panting. The's a warring feeling stirring within him...eroticism and disgust at having fucked Draco so viciously, so full of wild abandon. It's both dangerous and exciting. His head begins to spin as he pulls away, tugging his pants and trousers up and tucking himself in. Draco’s face is blotchy and sweaty, eyes narrowing as he turns around, his expression caught somewhere between anger and desire. And it's just so typical for Draco to have such a complex mixture of emotions perfectly captured in one single glare. A flare of jealousy rips through Harry as he wonders if there's another man out there who has seen this look on Draco, has fucked Draco the way Harry has fucked him tonight. 

"Was I better than the others?" Harry asks nastily. Draco recoils, the glare slipping from his face, expression contorting instead with pain as his lips quiver. He gives a soft choked sob before sliding down the back of the sofa, trousers and pants still pooling at his ankles. His come is on the soft material and on the floor, but he collapses on top of it without a care. Draco takes several deep breaths before he buries his head in his hands, suddenly crying hysterically.

“I love you,” Draco whispers hoarsely between his sobs, shaking his head. “I love you so much and you just don't—” he says weakly, face still buried in his palms. “I can’t.” Harry towers above him, his glasses askew on his flustered face. “I can’t…I don’t _want_ this.”

“What is so hard about you staying _committed to me_?” Harry shouts, causing Draco to flinch.

“I _am_ committed to you, you fucking prick!” Draco screams, pulling his hands away to show his bloodshot eyes and his twisted look of disgust. “I don’t know how many times I need to say it! I'm not _fucking_ anyone else!”

“I can’t believe a word you say when you’re this fucked up.” Harry takes a step back, taking in Draco’s huddled, shaking form, and immediately feels sick.

“Harry, do you think you’re better than me just because you keep your anger bottled up inside of you?”

“I don’t do that!”

Draco releases a humourless laugh between his wet gasps. “You’re absolutely fucking delusional—you’re the poster child of repression, Harry! And I’m a fool for following behind you. I should have gotten help years ago but I told myself that being with you was all the therapy I needed. Now look at me,” he says, waving his hand grandly.

“You can’t blame me for how things have turned out for you, Draco,” Harry snarls. “We should be responsible for working out our own problems!”

“Do you even hear yourself? You’re my _partner_ , Harry. We’ve been together for over _four_ years. We’re supposed to deal with our problems together. You fucking _promised_ ,” Draco strangles out.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I kept my promise. I let you grieve.”

“You _let_ me?” Draco asks incredulously. _“Fuck you.”_

“You’re not the only person to experience grief, to experience loss, Draco.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Harry wants to vomit. He knows exactly how hard Draco fought to maintain a semblance of normalcy in his life before everything between them went to shite. 

Draco stares up at him with wide eyes. “You’re a fucking monster. I-I regret it all, this whole thing. If I had a time-turner I would go back and just fucking _walk away from you._ I was hardly a year into my sobriety when we met again at Luna's wedding, it was too fucking soon, too soon…I let go of _everything_ for you _._ I gave up _myself._ ” Harry takes in a sharp breath, stung by Draco’s words. His stomach drops and his pulse quickens as he watches Draco pick himself up from the ground, fixing his clothing. Draco sniffles as he runs a trembling hand through his hair. Harry’s unable to say anything, his mind still reeling from what Draco has said to him. He sure now.  _There’s no fucking going back._ Harry is brought out of his mental tirade at the sound of Draco sobbing, his shoulders jerking in their usual motion when his anxiety becomes overwhelming. Harry notices that Draco’s upper arms are starting to bruise.

When he finishes shaking, he’s still jumpy and looks over at Harry. “All my problems are laid out there, I don’t try to hide from them, Harry. You running away from your own problems doesn’t make you any better or stronger than me— it makes you a heartless fucking coward.”

Draco makes his way towards the hallway to retrieve his jacket. Harry notices that his gait is slow and stiff and he’s suddenly overcome with guilt at having been so rough with him. He wants to reach out to him, hold him close and apologise but as usual, the words fail to come out. He just stands there, numb, and watch as his boyfriend winces as he puts his shoes back on. He watches as he allows the biggest mistake of his life to happen as he slips his jacket back on. Draco pauses. “It’s over Harry.” 

Harry always promised Draco that he would never leave him, but he never received the promise in return.

Draco pulls open their front door for the last time and leaves without so much as a glance back, the door slamming shut behind him. 

***

_And so it begins._


	2. Chapter Two

_And so it begins._

***

They spent so many quiet nights when they first started dating getting to know one another.

The sex was spectacular. Harry was far from a virgin but he felt as if he were on virgin territory when he started in with Draco. Soon they began to explore every twisted kink and desire with one another and he had never felt so safe and sexually confident with another person before.

It wasn’t just the sex that made Harry lose every bit of sense around Draco. It was Draco's intelligence, his compassion, and his overwhelming optimism that did it for him. Soon, he found himself listening to Draco's tales of his journeys during the war, albeit painfully. He had to. Draco was so readily open with his thoughts and fears, and although it was such a contrast to his own experiences, his own hesitation and vague responses, Draco, bless him, didn't push him beyond just a few stiffly recounted memories.

Well, he didn't force the reciprocation in the beginning of their relationship, at least.

Draco would often talk about his darkest days with such candour when they first got together. As time went on, Harry became infinitely jealous at how put together Draco was because he was so much stronger than him. Harry knew that something was broken inside of him, had known it since he was just a little boy banished to the cupboard under the stairs. But Draco, well, he was handling his nightmares while Harry's were spiralling out of control. Whenever Hermione had a dear moment alone with him, she liked to point out that his pool of people he could trust was becoming smaller and smaller by the day, that he was hypervigilant, and he that he was always irrationally angry or irritated all the time. But even despite his own problems and inevitable envy of Draco, he was resentful of the people that overlooked Draco’s bravery. This man, who was always cast aside as a coward for his actions early on in life, had become a survivor and not a victim of circumstance. Harry was in awe of him.

After the trials the honour and dignity Draco was born into was ripped away from him. His family fought so hard to maintain a sliver of respect after the war, but their inability to achieve any post-war ultimately became their demise.

They had each other as they faced multiple trials and narrowly avoided Azkaban convictions. Draco truly believed that his father belonged in Azkaban, stating that the man is beyond cruel and delusion, still, in his thoughts about blood purity. During the war he didn’t believe his father’s actions were out of love for his family and it was a sore spot for Draco when they were finally left alone by the Aurors. His insecurity over his father’s love and affection for him bloomed and for once in his life, he felt abandoned. Lucius saw him only as a means to an end, just an heir – a faulty figure to continue the Malfoy name. Draco had lost the bit of control he had left after the war.

After two years under house arrest at an undisclosed location outside of Britain under DMLE watch, Draco and his mother suffered verbal abuse from his father. The man had spent a pretty galleon to avoid prison, and when the time came that his family could return to Malfoy Manor, Draco was itching to be free. He described the excitement and relief he felt when he finally began to plan his escape from the Manor with such a painful optimism that it had caused real pain in Harry's heart. After all, he knew how it felt to desperately want to escape a toxic household. For Draco, living in solitude with his desires had been a lonely venture, and with little to no contact with remaining companions he had no real outlet. He was subjected to his parents’ company, all three of them reliving memories in a home haunted with deaths, torture and hatred. It caused him so much emotional harm that it still brought tears to his eyes when he discussed it with Harry.

Everywhere he turned in the Manor, he was assaulted with memories of torturing people or being tortured himself. Many nights Harry would just hold Draco as he recounted tales of Voldemort invading his mind if he felt Draco was withholding information. Of the night Bellatrix tortured him to an inch of insanity when Harry escaped that faithful night. How he often had to fight off advances from Greyback and every other sick Death Eater with a penchant for scared, young boys. He was back in this Manor haunted by terrible memories, and it would take Draco a year to gather the courage to leave. He worried constantly for his mother, often the first to be targeted by Lucius’s wrath, but she refused to leave him. She sent him on, wanting him to be happy, and every day Draco regretted it.

He began drinking heavily once he moved out, secretly slinking off to muggle pubs to avoid persecuting looks from fellow magical folks and his parents, and experimenting with illegal substances to numb his feelings and out of control anxiety. He no longer knew how to reconcile his past self and actions with the individual he so desired to become.

Pansy Parkinson had owled him on a particularly lonely night after he had escaped the Manor, asking after his wellbeing. He was already living in a one bedroom in Brixton, the neighbourhood quite rough but the anonymity immensely appealing to him. Together they embarked on a mutually destructive path of alcohol and drug abuse. She was ostracised at first by the Wizarding World but was soon able to navigate through the criticisms. She was ultimately forgiven for her transgression.  _After all_ , Draco had sneered, she was just a scared little girl, she didn’t _mean_ to offer Harry up, and the Parkinson family reminded everyone of this every day. She was just a stupid, little girl. But Draco witnessed firsthand just how destructive the burden of proving she was innocent or just plain stupid was on her, and that hurt him too. He couldn't save his best friend from the kind of persecution he felt daily at his fathers hands in the Manor and within the Wizarding world. He knew she was far from a stupid little girl her family believed her to be. Pansy was fully aware of her actions, especially when she was encouraging Draco in his every sordid desire.

It was only when he ran into Luna Lovegood while out partying with Pansy one night that his life changed. She had caught them in some hellhole in Deptford, of all places, quite drunk and high off their arses. She apparently was friends with one of the blokes playing in the band the bar was hosting. The eccentric young blonde had stayed with them that whole night, much to Pansy’s disgust. After that night, she kept showing up at his flat, firecalling him, owling him, demanding that he become her friend. He gave in and she saved his life. She convinced him to go into rehab and Draco had spent six months in a muggle facility, coming out of his shell and learning how to deal with his anxiety, alcohol and substance abuse. After leaving, he regularly attended Muggle AA and NA meetings. He decided to get the arm-length floral tattoo, not because he was ashamed of his past, but because he wanted to show that even something deeply scarred and ugly can flourish and grow into something beautiful. A wild combination of gladioluses, statices, roses, lilies, asters, peonies and dark-centred poppies decorated his arm. Luna also reintroduced him to Dean, Neville, and Ginny. Dean introduced Draco to painting and rugby. Neville, her at the time fiancé, provided him crash courses on flowers and gardening. Ginny was always available for a Seeker’s game of Quidditch or a bit of therapeutic advice. It wasn’t long until Draco felt truly inspired and pulled out his long forgotten instrument from his childhood, the cello. With Luna and Ginny's encouragement, he began playing music again. Soon he was putting on small shows at local live music clubs. He was finally free, finally at peace.

But the man Harry had come to know these last five months was nothing like the man he had come to love for four years. The man who he laid next to at night was always angry, dangerous, and utterly lost. He had no idea how to deal with him – this stranger that had found his way into Harry's bed.

* * *

 

Draco is sitting with his legs and arms crossed in an armchair, a steady stream of blood from his nose trickling over his mouth and onto his shirt, when Harry re-enters the living room.

“I’m tired of fighting you,” Harry growls. His cheek stings as he presses a cloth filled with ice against what will be a shiner in the morning. He thrusts a clean one at Draco, who, still quite drunk, sways and takes it. He gingerly presses it against his nose with a hiss through clenched teeth.

“You tried to bloody kill me,” he drawls, pulling the cloth away to grimace at the dark blots of blood. 

“I didn’t try to kill you. And you swung at me first, you fucking bastard!” he spits. “I’m not going to let you beat on me, Draco. I don't care how drunk you are," Harry says derisively.  

“I was defending myself, you threw me to the bloody floor.”

“You deserved it.”

“Why? Because you think I’m out there fucking other guys, Harry?" Draco snarls out a mirthless, hollow laugh. "I bet you picture me on my knees in some filthy little loo, eagerly sucking off a train of men, don't you?”

“Enough!” Harry barks. He’s been suspicious of Draco for quite some time, but he never wanted to admit it. Then again, he never thought he’d be in a domestic violence situation with Draco either, and he’s disgusted by it. He's restrained Draco a handful of times, but the days when he's blacked-out drunk, Draco kicks, bites, punches, and slaps with a fervour that scares Harry. Screaming and light stinging hexes, sure, when they first started out, that was silly and they still weren't over their boyish animosity. But they've actually resorted to physical violence, now, sometimes even requiring a discreet visit from a terrified Hermione to heal broken wrists, and once, a broken rib. He feels sick to his fucking stomach even thinking about it. 

“Are you going to leave me?” Draco asks. Harry looks over to him, but says nothing. Draco's acid green fringe is falling into his face as he pants. " _Harry_. Are you going to leave me?" Draco asks again, tone demanding.

“I don’t know,” Harry says slowly. “I don’t think we can keep doing this.” Draco tosses the cloth to the floor, a twisted look of anguish crossing his face.

“Go on then, fucking _leave._ You don’t know how to keep your promises.”

“That’s not true and you know it, Draco. Look what you’re doing! Look what’s _happening_ to us.”

“I _knew_ you didn’t love me,” Draco says angrily, bordering on hysterical. “You said so yourself that you don't know how to love or be loved—I’ve always loved you more. What a loss to spend so much time with someone, only to find out that he’s a complete fucking stranger.”

Harry gasps, “ _Me_? _The stranger?_ Really, Draco, you have no idea what the fuck you're talking about. And how can you even say that to me?” he asks, struggling to keep the hurt from creeping into his voice. “You’re the only person who  _knows_ me. I’ve never loved anyone else in my entire life _but_ _you_.” They're silent for a few moments.

“Come here,” Draco says, his voice low and demanding.

“No.”

“I said come here, _Harry_ ,” he pants. Against his better judgement, he approaches him, body tingling. Draco has uncrossed his legs and he’s leaning back leisurely in the armchair as his eyes trail the length of Harry's body.

“I don't want to break up, Draco. I want you to stay. But we can't keep doing this to each other," Harry says. They always do this song and dance, now. Draco will come home completely pissed, they'll hit each other, then one of them will beg the other to stay. "We _should_ go see a Mind Healer. Hermione knows an excellent –”

“I don't want to hear it, Harry,” he interrupts. Draco stands and quickly pushes him into the armchair instead. Before he has any time to react, Draco is kneeling between Harry's open knees.

“No…we’re not doing this…not after…” Harry says, sitting his makeshift ice-pack on the armrest. “No. _Get up_ , Draco. This isn’t going to solve anything.” Draco places one hand on each knee and lifts himself up to press a kiss on Harry’s lips. He stinks of vodka. He’s back on his knees and palms Harry's crotch before he begins to unbutton his trousers. “Draco,” Harry warns, but he’s staring down at him with hooded eyes, already half-hard.

“Let me suck you, Harry.”

Harry moans and lifts his hips slightly as Draco pulls down his trousers and pants, quickly lifting his cock to stroke it to full hardness. He leans forward to lick the dollop of precome that’s beaded at the tip of his hot, swollen head. He licks again, this time in the slit while slowly pumping him. When he takes him all in one go, Harry jerks up, his cock hitting the back of Draco’s throat, but Draco quickly swallows, bringing Harry's cock deeper into his mouth and throat. He throws his head back and cries at the ceiling, Draco's name ripping from his throat. 

* * *

“ _Malfoy_ , what the _fuck_ are you doing?” Harry is framed in the doorway of their bathroom, having completed an evening rotation at the Ministry. Draco’s perched on the closed lid of the toilet, leaning over a mirror sat on the edge of the sink, a rolled fiver in hand and long, thin lines of what appears to be cocaine lined along the surface of the mirror. His once neon orange streaked fringe is now an acid green. He’s dressed in tight black jeans, his infamous dragon-hide boots and a tight sleeveless black shirt, despite the bitter January air. Draco is pale and all angles in this ensemble, his arm length black and white floral tattoo offsetting some of the animosity radiating off him. His hair, as always, is artfully styled in controlled chaos that to the untrained eye seems natural. His lips stretch across his gleaming white teeth as he smiles manically up at Harry.

“So we’re back to _Malfoy_?” he grins despite his contemptuous tone. “I’m just having a spot of _fun_ before going out tonight with Pans, _Potter_ , you don’t have a problem with that, do you?” 

Sure enough, Pansy Parkinson comes slinking into their bedroom en-suite, her sleek black bob faultless and dressed in an impossibly tight, short red dress and Draco's leather jacket. She clenches a half full bottle of Firewhisky to her chest. As she slips pass Harry into the bathroom she smiles up at him, using both hands to take a swig from the large bottle. Harry’s face drains of colour. Draco has not been in Pansy’s company _alone_ for over four years, due in part to being a trigger for all of Draco’s bad habits.

“Potter, thanks for supplying us with the space and booze to party. I really love your flat!” she says with a cackle.

“ _Our_ flat,” Draco corrects, lining up more cocaine. 

“Whatever. You know how I absolutely _hate_ pre-gaming at Blaise’s before heading out. Anywhere is better, honestly.”

“That’s only because you’re tired of fucking him,” Draco mutters, hand reaching out for the bottle of alcohol. Pansy hands it to him and he takes a deep gulp from it, completely ignoring Harry’s choked sob.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you Draco, so you can have a go at him?” she asks, giggling.

“Stop it Pansy, he’s absolute rubbish. I hope he stays home.”

“Draco,” Harry starts again, ignoring the belligerent conversation, “ _what the fuck are you doing?”_

“ _What the fuck are you doing_?” Draco mimics. “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing, Potter? Fuck you, that’s what. Who do you think you are—my Father? Get over yourself…” He thrusts the bottle back at Pansy before leaning forward to snort one long pristine line. He jerks back, his chin tilting towards the ceiling as he holds one nostril down and pulls a snort through the other. He bounces slightly in his seat as a look of pleasure crosses his sharp features. “Fuck, that feels amazing. If there’s one thing muggles have perfected, it’s _this._ ”

Harry stumbles out of the bathroom at the sight, his world tipping on its side. He’s sure he’s about to sick up all over the bedroom floor, but he holds himself as he backs out of the room and towards the fireplace. He’s hardly thinking as he tosses a bit of floo powder in and cries out for Ron and Hermione’s place.

He’s ready to start screaming in grief when he’s greeted by Hermione reading on the sofa, Rose leaning her small tired body against her, wild copper coloured hair gleaming in the low lights of the room. “Harry,” Hermione whispers, looking up, alarmed. “Are you alright?”

Harry shakes his head and he knows he must look a mess, “I’m so sorry, I-I came over unannounced. I can leave—” he whispers.

“Nonsense! I was just about to put Rose down for bed. She prefers to sit by the fire when we read together,” she says fondly, looking down at the snoozing child. “She thinks it helps her stay up longer to hear the story if she’s on the couch instead of tucked in bed. I’ll be just a minute,” she says, leaning Rose against the arm of sofa so she can struggle off the couch. Harry makes a move to help her up, but she waves him off. With a flick of her wand the three-year-old curls into foetal position as she is levitated towards the hallway leading to her bedroom, Hermione waddling close behind. Harry takes a seat in Ron’s favourite armchair by the fireplace. At first he places his head between his knees, trying desperately to shake off the image of Draco snorting cocaine. He’s unable to. He tries deep breaths and when that fails he begins to chew relentlessly on his thumbnail as he waits for Hermione. When she comes back, a tea tray floats behind her. She levitates a cup made to Harry’s liking and sits down with her own.

“You’re becoming quite good at the levitating,” he remarks.

“Yes, well, I have to,” she says, gesturing to her very pregnant belly. “I’ll be so happy when Hugo arrives. I’ll be able to function like a normal human being again.” They both smile at one another.

“Where’s Ron?” he asks before taking a sip from his tea. Hermione opens her mouth, her eyebrows knitting together in an expression of frustration and confusion, then closes it.

“He’s still at the Ministry. Something about a muggle repellent charm gone wrong. Tell me what’s happened, Harry.”

Harry places his tea on the table beside him and drops his head into his hands as he releases a strangled sob.

He tells Hermione everything. She’s quiet throughout his retelling of events, but her face is tight with worry. When he finishes, he’s barely speaking above a whisper and his head hurts.

"Draco has clearly relapsed. The best you can do is get him into rehab again before he kills himself."

"I've...I've never seen him  _do_ this, before," he lies. He doesn't know  _why_ he lies, this is Hermione. Some part of him refuses to believe this is his reality.

"What do you mean, Harry? You said he's been drinking long before now," Hermione corrects him softly. When he doesn't respond she sighs. “Do you love him?” she asks, her voice strong. Harry closes his eyes, running a hand through his hair and nods.

“Yeah, of course I do.”

“We know that he's dealing with a lot, Harry. I know Draco's hurting you, but he's hurting, too, for entirely different reasons. There's no way around it, you guys  _have_ to come together and get each other some help."

“I’m _trying,_ Hermione. He’s been so out of control lately, I’m afraid I’m going to lose him for good.”

“Then you must do everything you can to keep him,” she says simply. "Draco needs an outlet for his recent loss, maybe group therapy might help him more than a Mind Healer? You could always stage an intervention to start the process of admitting him into rehab, and then from there look at group therapy."

"Yeah, perhaps," Harry mutters. He doesn't think any of that will help Draco. It'll just anger him. And then he'll runaway from him. Harry will lose him forever.

\---

Later that night Harry decides to head back to his flat. In that moment, he’s eternally grateful for Hermione and her nurturing hand, but he still feels incapable of approaching Draco, whenever the other man decides to show up. It’s almost dawn when he hears Draco enter their flat. He’s sprawled out on his stomach, his arms tucked under his pillow. He doesn’t turn to look at Draco, but stirs when the bed dips and he feels Draco begin to crawl atop his back. Draco’s hands creep under the pillow, grasping the back of Harry’s. “I’m sorry,” Draco’s voice is soft as he nuzzles his face into the back of Harry’s neck, and he feels the wetness of Draco’s tears there. His heart plummets to the bottom of his stomach and fights back his own tears as Draco kisses the back of his neck. “I fucked up, Harry. I’m sorry. I love you so much, sometimes I feel like it’s going to be the death of me.”

When he finally shifts, Draco moves to lay beside him and Harry quickly engulfs him in an embrace. He kisses the tears from off Draco’s cheeks, holding him so tightly he’s unable to tell one erratic heartbeat from the other.

“You scared me tonight,” Harry can’t keep the hurt from creeping into his words as he searches Draco’s face in the dim light of dawn pouring into their bedroom window. 

“I’ll never do it again. Just promise me. Please.” Draco sobs, kissing Harry with all his might. “Promise me you won’t leave me, Harry. Everyone leaves me. Mother did. I can’t bear it if you…Promise me, Harry. I-I, I need you _._ ”

Harry hushes him and kisses him gently on the lips. Harry tries to crush down the shame he feels because there's a roaring relief and joy that ruptures in his belly at Draco's pleas. He still needs Harry, still can't survive without him. He won't _leave him. Ever._ “I’m not going anywhere—I just want you to let me go through this with you. Don’t lock me out. No matter how scary you may think it is.”

“I don’t know how I let it get this out of control.”

“I know, Draco. We just need to stick together and we’ll get through it. I love you.”

“I love you more,” he whispers. “I miss how things used to be,” Draco leans forward to kiss him again, just a soft brush against his lips. When he pulls away, his eyes are closed tightly as he breaths heavily through his nose. “I miss her. I miss her so much.”

Harry notices that the light pouring into their bedroom from the half-opened window is receding now, the room darkening immediately. His vision becomes blurry, as if someone has removed his glasses. He looks down at Draco, the other man’s eyes are closed and his body is curled around him, but Harry doesn’t feel the weight of him against his body. It’s as if he’s suddenly gone numb. With a sickening lurch in his stomach, the room begins to spin and he cries out as darkness consumes him.  

* * *

 

Harry cracks a hesitant eye open to find that he’s standing in the hallway outside their bedroom. His Auror-trained brain screams at him that something is terribly wrong. How did he get to the hallway? Where exactly was he before?

As he grips the doorknob, a shiver runs down his shoulder blades. He knows why he’s standing here and immediately he’s petrified by fear at the sheer impact of images suddenly flooding his mind. Like a silent movie, he sees Draco crying, falling to the floor and standing up, only to fall to his knees once again. He plants his hands on the surface of their coffee table and pushes all the newspapers, books, and coffee mugs to the floor. He screams when Harry’s hands reach out to him, not wanting to be touched, not wanting to be held and consoled. _Mother, mother, mother._ Draco flees to their bedroom. He hasn’t left the room for three days.

There's a sudden urge to turn the doorknob and he tries to resist it, causing his knees to buck. He was just holding Draco, wasn't he? He doesn't know what's happening, doesn't know why he feels as if his reality has been altered, as if he's stuck moving from one place to another but not quite  _belonging._ He tries to step away from the door of their bedroom, but it’s as if he’s been placed under the Imperius Curse, his body yearns to open the door. He panics _._ Gritting his teeth, he steps away from the door and there’s a harsh, screeching sound, like sharp nails on a chalkboard and he can taste bile. His entire body twists, burns, and stretches. He can’t breathe, he can’t _scream. What the fuck!_ he panics. 

He throws himself forward, hands scrambling to grip the doorknob to throw the door open and –

And he calmly steps into the room. He’s been preparing for this talk with Draco for three days now. It’s dark. The curtains drawn despite the sun blazing outside. It smells acridly of sweat and the white roses they received from Ron and Hermione. He pulls out his wand and with a quick air purifying charm, the room smells fresher. He makes his way to the bed and sits on the edge where Draco is curled tightly in foetal position, the duvet nearly covering his head, his white blond hair and recently charmed lilac fringe poking out.

“Draco,” Harry murmurs, placing a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Draco, love. You have to eat something.” At his silence, Harry shakes him. “Draco, wake up.”

The other man finally stirs, stretching out beside him. “Harry? What-what’s going on?”

“Draco, love. It’s been three days now, you have to get up and eat something,” Harry says quietly, lifting a hand to push Draco’s fringe from off his forehead.

Draco groans and scuffles away from Harry’s touch. “I’m so tired, Harry. Please, please let me sleep.” He disappears under the duvet and Harry pulls back his hand to drop in his lap. With a sigh, he looks away from Draco and stares off in the distance.

“The funeral is tomorrow. She would have wanted you to be there.”

“Don’t,” Draco bites out. “I’m not going. I’m not going to sit there while Lucius makes a mockery out of her life.”

“I’ve written to Lucius,” Harry starts. “I’ve informed him that Narcissa arranged her own burial plans and he should see that they’re honoured.”

“And what did he say?” he asks, voice muffled.

“The usual, “you’re a lowly half-blood, you disgusting cretin” bit, and then he told me if I have a problem with his plans, perhaps I should pay for the funeral myself. So, I told him it would be my pleasure. I’ll be paying for the funeral, Draco.”

Slowly Draco emerges from under the covers, his face full of astonishment. “You would do that?”

“It’s already done, I have people at the Manor right now making prep—” before he can finish, Draco throws himself onto him, his long arms wrapping around him.

“You have no idea what this means to me, to _her._ ” Harry wiggles his arms from Draco’s tight grip so he can properly embrace him.

“I _do_ know. I know how important she is to you and I know your mother deserves to rest peacefully,” he whispers as Draco sobs into his shoulder. “I love you, Draco.” 

“I love you more.”

\----

After _three and a half years_ of being with him, Draco’s mother had finally come around to the idea that Harry wasn’t going anywhere. He was right there along Draco taking care of her. Towards the end, when her mobility was limited, he would feed her, read to her, brush her hair. She had come to truly love Harry. Her illness was discovered six months ago, and for six months she battled the impacts it had on her body with a fervour, so much so that everyone expected that her to survive it. That they would look back on those six months and celebrate her victory. Draco suspected that Lucius had something to do with the quickening of her illness, not wanting to see his wife so helpless and weak. The thought makes Harry want to sick up.

As Harry stands next to him at Narcissa’s funeral, their fingers entwined as the casket, flowers, and pictures she wanted, is lowered into the ground, he _knows_ —he _knows_ a part of Draco is being lowered with her into the freshly upended dirt.

The gathering at Malfoy Manor is sombre and filled with old memories Harry still tries to escape every time he visits. Draco is at his side, his face ghostly pale and his eyes bloodshot. Despite visitors and well to do people attempting to wrap him into conversation, he remains silent, staring vacantly ahead. He doesn’t leave Harry’s side for a minute, their hands remain entwined and Harry knows that he is the only one keeping Draco from falling to the ground.

“Your mother was a wonderful woman,” Slughorn says, nodding solemnly. “And beautiful, a _classic_ beauty…she’ll be missed.”

“I remember when your mother was a wee girl…such curiosity,” a past governess of his mother explains, her ancient eyes shine and mouth quirks in a small smile as she surveys Draco. “You look _just_ like her.”

Hours pass, and Draco remains utterly silent as these people approach him. Harry provides commentary on Narcissa’s grace and beauty, the wonders of the Manor’s austere but elegant splendour, and how she saved his life. He remembers stories Draco has shared with him of Narcissa as a young mother and Draco as a little boy and he shares some of this with well-wishers aching for such stories to help remember something beyond her death and the War. He discusses Narcissa’s love for the piano and cello and how Draco is talented with both instruments. He hopes desperately that despite his silence, Draco approves of how he’s handling the conversations.

Lucius, who has hardly spoken outside of the Eulogy, walks up to them, leaning heavily on his cane. “Draco, I expect to see you in my study _now_ ,” he whispers fiercely. Harry can smell the whiskey on him. For the first time, Draco makes a move of acknowledgement. He nods as his Father limps away. 

Lucius is quite drunk and enraged when they enter his study.

“Must you be flagged by Potter the entire time you’re here?” he asks, glancing at their clasped hands in disdain. “ _Merlin’s blood_ , Draco, you’re a _Malfoy_ , pull yourself together. Such weakness is an atrocity.”

“Harry is family, Father,” Draco counters weakly.

“Circe damn you a _fool_!” Lucius shouts. “You’re useless, you’ve always been so _useless_ ,” Lucius spits, taking another sip from the whiskey in his hand. “A shame! You’ve placed a pox on this house because of your _proclivities_ and your _mother_ had to suffer the consequences!” Draco winces and releases a strained whimper, fresh tears springing to his eyes as he stares down at the floor. Harry feels the familiar squeeze of anger grip him and the glass in Lucius’s hands explodes. The man jumps back from the small explosion, his hand bleeding.

“You're a disgrace!” Lucius barks. “How dare you attack me in my own house,” he hisses, grasping his cane. Harry is about to open his mouth when Draco squeezes his hand.

“Mother had _no_ problem with my relationship with Harry,” Draco bites back and does a near perfect job of keeping his voice even. His shoulder is still pressed against Harry’s. “She loved Harry as her own.” Draco looks at Harry before turning back to Lucius. “She was happy for us, Father. It's y _ou_ that feels the need to cause such disparities. How _dare_ you disrespect Mother in such a way.”

“How dare I, Draco?” Lucius growls, “I’ll have you written out of the will! I’ll have you and your precious Potter ostracised from proper Wizard society!” It was a split second too late when Harry realises that the older man has drawn his wand to cast a hex, but Draco, probably already expecting it, has non-verbally blocked whatever his Father sent their way, his wand in hand and a flash of pale blue light exploding in the centre of the room, now stinking of ozone.  

“Your Mother, she always coddled you too much…and now look at you… a filthy disgrace,” he says, hands trembling.

“It’s time to go, Harry,” Draco says, tilting his chin up defiantly as he glowers at his Father. "There's nothing left here that's worth a damn," he hisses, jerking away from the sight of his father, his lips turning up in a sneer as he walks towards the study's doors.

“Get out,” Lucius splutters. "And never show your face here again."

\---

As they make their way back to the flat, Draco is silent again. His eyes are distant and his face has been carefully schooled to mask even a hint of emotion. Harry knows that Draco is hurting and that he needs this silence to gather his strength and wits. But as soon as the Floo shuts down behind them, he turns to Harry and speaks.

“Tea?” Harry freezes at the casual tone, but he can do nothing but say yes, stripping away his suit jacket and toeing off his shoes.

Draco disappears into the kitchen and he can hear the fire being lit under the kettle and the cupboards opening and closing. Harry begins to straighten the coatrack to Draco’s liking when suddenly a crash emanates from the kitchen. Harry runs into it to find Draco in the middle of the floor, curled into himself, his body convulsing. The window overlooking the garden has a tea cup sized hole in it. He’s crying uncontrollably and Harry is at his side, lifting him into his arms.

“ _Mum_.” His shattered cry against his shoulder pulls at Harry’s heart. With a flick of his wrist, the kettle turns off. "It's all my fault. I _left_ her. I  _left_ her and now she's  _gone._ " 

Harry rocks him, making soft hushing sounds. "That's not true, Draco. You took care of your mum. You took care of her. She loves you so much, she wouldn't want you to feel this way."

"She's gone," Draco whimpers, pressing his face into Harry's shoulder. "She's _gone._ "

Harry continues to hold him as Draco cries horrid broken sounds as he clenches Harry's shirt, his body rattling from the strength of his sobs. After a few minutes Harry gently coaxes Draco into standing and he all but carries him up the stairs to their bedroom. They crawl into the bed together, Harry wrapping his arms around Draco’s shaking body. He whispers words of encouragement and love into the other man’s ear and runs a hand through his hair and soon Draco has ceased in his crying. It is not long before they’re both conquered by sleep.

When Harry wakes, hours later, he immediately notices the empty cold covers. He checks the house and Draco is nowhere to be found. He fire-calls Hermione and Ron, Luna, and Ginny, and to no avail, they have not heard from Draco. With a heavy sigh, he goes back into the bedroom, believing that Draco just needs time to grieve. He falls back into a troubled sleep.

It's nearly five in the morning when Draco creeps back into the house, stripping naked and falling heavily into bed beside Harry. Harry stirs and rises onto his elbows to gaze blearily at him. He opens his mouth to speak but the sudden overwhelming stench of whisky makes him immediately freeze.

Harry panics, and searches for the words that fail to come. Instead, he reaches a trembling hand out to shake Draco but only receives a soft rumble of a snore that pierces the quiet of the room.

* * *

 

It’s early Saturday morning. Draco and Harry have just been through Chapel Market from the Angel stop on the Northern Line. Harry is pleased whenever Draco suggest that they travel on the tube to navigate Muggle London versus a black cab or Apparition. After purchasing some succulents for the kitchen windowsill and buying a falafel sandwich from a stall, Harry suggests they find a secluded spot and Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron so they may browse the stalls of Diagon Alley. They Apparate away with just a faint pop. 

Draco is incredibly alive today with his beatific smiles and warm, deep laughter. He practically drags Harry down the lanes of Diagon Alley in excitement, stopping here and there as vendors shout prices and newly acquired items to lure in potential customers.

Harry’s hand is clasped tightly in Draco’s as they find themselves looking through one stall stacked with enchanted watches. He’s contemplating purchasing a vintage Rolex, circa 1930 that’s enchanted to warn of impending danger when something collides against his knee. He looks down to see a small girl, no older than three years of age turn her bright blue eyes up to Harry. She removes her binky with one hand, the other is holding her mother’s hand, and smiles a rather wet smile at him. Her corn silk coloured hair is tied up into pigtails and she’s wearing the cutest jade green baby cloak Harry has ever seen.

“Oh my,” Draco starts in awe, noticing the small child. “Aren’t you gorgeous?” The baby has turned her wide smile to Draco.

A harried young witch that has been standing next to the child throws her arms around the baby girl. “Julia! Mummy will put you back in the pram now, purchases are all done, oh! I’m sorry, sirs, I didn’t see you— _oh_ _blimey_! You’re Harry Potter!” the woman’s mouth slides open in shock as she takes in Harry’s scar, glasses, and hair. Harry usually keeps his fringe long enough to cover the scar, but the wind has picked up. He smiles politely at her and gestures to the small child.

“She’s absolutely adorable,” he compliments.

“Why thank you _Mr Potter_!” the woman says, her voice filled with astonishment. “Her names Julia…she just turned two…oh my, I can’t believe I’m talking to _Harry Potter!_ And you…you must be Draco Malfoy! I’ve seen your picture in _Witch Weekly_. Your pictures simply do you no justice!”

Harry and Draco both smile. “That’s very kind of you to say,” Draco says graciously.

“It was so lovely meeting you Mrs…?” Harry is quite ready to end this awkward fan-encounter.

“Gloria,” she breathes. “It was so lovely meeting you as well. Oh my…”

“Goodbye Julia!” Harry coos, waving at the small child. The little girl giggles again, resting her head against her mother’s cheek but her eyes never leave Draco’s. They start to walk away from the stall and Draco wraps an arm around Harry’s to pull him close.

“Harry, wouldn’t it be lovely if we had a baby? One with white blonde hair and green eyes?”

Harry stifles a laugh. “Are you trying to tell me you want to give birth to a baby?”

“Don’t be daft, Harry. Men can’t get pregnant and even if it _were_ possible, why would _I_ be the one carrying the child? You’ve been thirsting for my seed, lately. You would obviously carry the child.”

Harry shudders at the imagery Draco’s bizarre wording brings up. “Merlin, Draco. D’you hear yourself?”

“Seriously, Harry! We should consider adoption. Or we can get a surrogate. Wouldn’t that be grand? There are potions she could take so the child has both our genetic makeup.”

“That’s...” Harry has stopped walking now, slowly shaking his head, “that’s insane.”

“What? Why?” he asks, confusion written on his face. “It’s all the craze in modern potions.”

“Draco,” Harry laughs nervously, “we can’t have a child right now, we’re not ready.”

“When will you be ready, Harry? We’ve been together for three years. I thought you wanted some fat babies crawling around our flat,” Draco says teasingly, poking Harry in his side. “I mean, you said you wanted a family.” Draco grips his arm tighter. “Unless,” Draco pauses, a look of uncertainty flashing across his face. “Do you not want children anymore?”

Something uncomfortable squirms in the pit of Harry’s stomach as they pass Flourish and Blotts. He did say he wanted a family. When they had started dating and answered all the preliminary dating questions, that did come up. He had wanted a family desperately. But now he’s unsure if he’d make a decent father. He can barely control the wild thoughts that go through his head, the nightmares that plague him at night, or the debilitating rows he has with Draco. Hell, he can’t even promise that his job won’t be the death of him one of these days. “I-I don’t know, Draco. Do you really think you’re capable of raising a child?” Harry immediately regrets his choice of words as soon as they leave his mouth.

Draco makes a small noise of shock, his arm quickly coming away from Harry. A cool, calm look trickles across his face, deftly covering the fury Harry knows is cackling beyond the surface. “What makes you think I can’t raise a child?”

“It’s hard work.”

“Weasley and Hermione can do it…why can’t I?” he asks tightly.

“ _Ron_ and Hermione are methodical people. They’ve been together for a long time and they’re… responsible.”

“So I’m not _responsible_ enough?” His voice is taking on that shrill tone that not only makes Harry wince but let’s him know they’re about to embark on a spectacular row. There’s very little that can be done to stop it now.

“Draco, I really don’t want to do this here.”

“Fuck you, Potter!” Draco hisses, his eyes going wide. “I would make an _excellent_ Father! How dare you think I wouldn’t be able to raise a child—”

“—Draco, _not here, please_ —”

“—and you’re just bloody scared! —”

“—we’re simply not ready—”

“—You hate when I call you out on your bullshit because you end up looking like a liar—”

“Draco!” Harry shouts, his temper flaring, “you’re a recovering alcoholic and drug user! _Excuse me_ if I’m a bit concerned over your ability to see to the wellbeing of children!”

Draco takes a staggering step back, his eyes ablaze, mouth slightly hanging open as he gapes at Harry, disbelief written on his face. “I’ve been sober for FOUR YEARS, and I’ve taken care of Rose just fine! Hermione has never questioned my ability to see over the safety of her child!”

“A few hours a day is different than nearly _the rest of someone’s life,_ Draco. It’s a lot of work, I wouldn’t want to ask you to take on that kind of pressure, what with your history—”

“My _history?_ I’m competent enough to promise the rest of my life to _you_ but not to a _child_?” Draco asks, shaking his head at him. Harry’s embarrassed. “So that’s it? This is what you think of me? I’m just some huge fuck up, some low-life addict that can’t look after another life let alone himself?”

“No, that’s not it at all. It’s just too soon, Draco,” Harry says softly, trying to pull Draco to him again, but the blond pulls away again. Draco turns and walks a few feet down the cobbled stone pathway, arms wrapped tightly around his body. Harry follows him but soon Draco stops and glares at him.

“You’re a liar, Harry. A goddamn _liar._ You think I’d make a lousy Father!” 

Harry releases an exhausted sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s not oblivious to the looks of interest and shock people are sending them in the street. He can’t believe they’re fighting publicly about this, and he just knows it’ll end up in _the_ _Prophet_ tomorrow. “I’m just saying you’re not ready. _We’re_ not ready! Can we _not_ do this here?” He tries to pull Draco off the main road and towards the secluded bushy area near the Leaky, but this seems to infuriate Draco further as pulls his hands from his grasps with a viciousness that startles Harry.

“I AM FUCKING READY!” Draco roars, ignoring Harry’s pleas to calm down. He’s definitely on a roll now, much to Harry’s distress. He’s about a hair shy of covering Draco’s mouth with his hands and dragging him, kicking and all, to the nearest Apparition point. “I’m ready and fully capable, Potter. How dare you! _YOU’RE_ irresponsible. Always on the run, never able to sit still or share your bloody feelings. Do you know you’re incapable of experiencing real human emotion beyond anger and fear? That’s it, with all your fucking problems—”

“My problems! _MY_ problems? Draco, sometimes you can’t even get out of bed because you’re so depressed—”

“ _Fuck you, Potter!_ I don’t get out of bed in the morning because I’ve been kept up all night by your screaming and sobbing in the middle of the night!” At this, Harry explodes.

“How can you possibly want to bring a child into this _mess?_ How can you even _think_ you’d be able to provide any kind of normal life to a child when yours is always so out of control? How do you even _know_ what a proper father is when yours is an evil, murderous bastard who doesn’t even _love_ you? That child will be fucked up!”

Draco has gone incredibly white and sways on spot as if the wind has been knocked out of him. His eyes are bright and Harry reaches out to him, an apology already on his lips but Draco slaps his hand away. Harry’s mortified that he’s used Draco’s insecurity about Lucius’s love against him.

He then turns and takes off down the street.

“Draco! Wait, please!” he shouts, following him, and much to his humiliation people are really starting to take notice to their very public row. He cringes as he pumps his legs faster, Draco having the advantage of longer legs over him. He can’t catch up and loses him among the masses. 

\--- 

He doesn’t come home for nearly three whole days. Waking up next to an empty space that smells sharp of Draco causes him to stay in bed for those three days, even missing work on Monday and Tuesday. He replays the whole argument over and over in his mind until he’s sick with grief.

He knows that it’s his own insecurity that scares him out of starting a family. Even when he was with Ginny he feared the idea of having a child with her. He felt that he was just too damaged to look after another life. He doesn’t know what it means to be a loving parent because he never had a loving parent. Even Arthur and Molly, as much as he loves them, can’t fill the void he carries in his chest. Every other father figure he had in his life – Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, hell, even _Snape_ a little too late—died, leaving him alone and unfulfilled once again.

Harry can tell something has shifted in their relationship. After three years of bliss, Harry is now faced with the ugly realities of a strained relationship. With Narcissa ill, Lucius constantly drunk, pressure from Kingsley to train for the Head Auror position, and Draco’s anxiety, Harry feels like he’s drowning. But he is desperate to cling onto Draco. He feels Draco pulling away from him as if he’s some repugnant force and he just doesn’t know how to stop it anymore. Everything he says or does is another nail in his coffin. He doesn’t want to lose him over this, and he’s willing to bite down on his fears and bring a child into this world if it’ll bring them closer.

When Luna sends a secret missive letting him know that Draco is with her and that he’ll be coming home the evening of the third day, Harry is ready with the best flowers from _The Watering Can_. Before the man even enters the flat he is upon him, apologising, fretting, and crying. He tells him that he’s a complete prat and of course, whenever he wants, they’ll have a baby.

“No, you were right, Harry, I’m not ready—you’re not ready,” Draco calmly starts once they’re in the kitchen. He places the flowers in a vase as Harry nurses a cup of tea. “Having a child isn’t going to magically repair whatever the fuck is happening between us. So why are we trying to fool ourselves into thinking that everything is alright?”

“We can fix this Draco," he says calmly.

“I don’t know anymore." Draco's back is rigid as he mindlessly arrange and rearrange the flowers.

Harry quickly stands from his seat and places his hands on either side of Draco’s hips. He swallows, afraid to share the information that he’s been hiding from Draco for the entire length of their relationship. But the need to be honest has been nagging at him since Saturday, and outweighs his hesitation. He can control the course of the conversation, surely. “It’s not you. Draco,” he takes a deep breath. “I was abused and neglected as a kid, and sometimes I feel like…like I’m too fucked up to love or be loved, but I’m _trying._ I really am.”

Very carefully, Draco turns around to face Harry, his eyes ablaze with anger. “Who hurt you?” he asks, his voice grave.

“It—it was my relatives.”

“The muggles?”

“Yes.”

“What did they do to you?”

Harry fidgets. “I really don’t want to go into detail about it, Draco.” Draco grabs Harry by his forearms and squeezes him slightly. "It's in the past."

“ _Tell me,”_ he urges. Harry shakes his head, stomach turning at the mere thought.

“I said I’d rather _not,_ okay?” Harry says, pulling away from Draco’s grasp. The fire still hasn’t left Draco’s eyes and it sends Harry into a panic. “I’ve never told anyone this, so just stop. Don’t you get it? I don’t need anyone to save me, Draco. I don’t need _you_ to save me. I’m fine,” he says in a hushed manner, wrapping his arms around his body.

“Harry,” Draco says, his tone heart-rending, “don’t push me away, please.”

Harry shakes his head again. “ _No._ I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Arms still wrapped around his body he steps up to Draco and quickly kisses him on the cheek. “Please.”

Draco’s face is oddly blank as Harry pulls back. He nods curtly and turns back to the flowers, Harry returning to his tea. It’s cold now.

***

“HARRY! WAKE UP!”

Harry sputters, his arms flailing as his eyes fly open. He sits up in bed, shaking uncontrollably and covered in a thin film of sweat.

_"Does it hurt?"_

_"Dying? Not at all. Quicker and easier than falling asleep."_  

Harry shakes his head, the words screaming repeatedly in his head, and oh, his throat feels like it's on fire, raw and gritty. He was there, Sirius. He was supposed to come back through the curtains. He was supposed to. He had to. Harry just needs Sirius to hug him again, to tell him he'll be alright, just _one more time_. It takes Harry a while to realise that it's _Draco_ that has his arms wrapped around him now, and _he’s_ the one speaking soft words of encouragement and calm into his ear. Harry violently jerks away from the embrace, closing his eyes once more and swallowing back bile that's threatening to creep up his sore throat. He takes a deep breath, trying to rid the leftover haze of the nightmare from his mind. When he finally opens his eyes, he touches his wrists, arms and chest to make sure he's _here_ , alive, awake, rooted in his present state of mind. Draco is breathing hard, panic in his eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry says hoarsely.

“You were screaming bloody murder. The worst I’ve heard.”

“It’s okay.” Draco tries to wrap his arms around Harry once more, but Harry shrugs him off. “I said I’m fine, Draco. It’s just been a while since I’ve had a nightmare like that.” Draco purses his lips.

“It’s happening more often,” Draco finally blurts out, rising to sit on the back of his legs. “You had one just a few nights ago.” Harry doesn’t respond. Draco sighs. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he says firmly. "Never," he whispers, falling back on his side of the pillows and turning to face away from Draco.

“It’s crazy that after all this time you still refuse to talk openly about your nightmares, or _anything,_ really. Quite frankly Harry, it’s starting to fucking feel like you don’t trust me,” Draco says hotly, sitting back and crossing his arms against his chest.

In the past, Draco would wake him from his nightmare, conjure a glass of water, and sweep his long fingers through Harry's hair until he calmed down and fell back to sleep. But soon he started to demand to know what the dreams were about, and Harry just couldn’t bring himself to tell him. He didn’t want to keep reliving memories of the war, the deaths of his loved ones, his horrible childhood or what he experienced on the field as an Auror. Not if he can help it.

Harry makes a noise of frustration and turns to glare at Draco. “Not everything is about you, Draco. I just…I just don’t want to think about it anymore than I have to, okay?” Draco opens his mouth to retaliate but Harry cuts him off. “ _P_ _lease,_ can we _please_ not fight about this _again_? I have to be up early. Not to mention, we promised your mum we’d go to St Mungo’s with her.” Harry turns away.

Several seconds pass before he hears Draco gasping for breath. He turns to him and watches as Draco begins trembling uncontrollably, his hands flying to his throat. Harry scrambles to sit upright, one hand grasping Draco’s elbow and the other coming to rest flat against his stomach.

“Draco, breathe. Breathe, damn it. Remember what we learned? Breathe from your stomach.” Harry can feel Draco’s stomach clench and relax beneath his hand. He continues to urge him to breathe and assure him that everything is alright until finally Draco releases a strangled cry and slouches against the headboard. He gives a final jerk before he closes his eyes. Harry leans against the headboard as well, his hands sliding away from Draco’s body. The worse of Draco’s anxiety reared its ugly head shortly after Narcissa’s diagnosis. Draco’s symptoms have been a complete horror to live with, but Harry understands and sympathises with him. Or at least he did. He _tries_ to show his support, but Draco either withdraws into himself, isolating Harry as he wallows in his self-pity or he’s begging Harry to forgive him and shower him with attention. It's an emotional rollercoaster everyday with him lately.

Harry closes his eyes and sighs in frustration, knowing that the other man will be obsessing over this row for days to come. He’s used to Draco asking him for forgiveness or seeking reassurance, even if said argument or random act was all Harry’s fault. He’s used to reassuring Draco through words, touching, and fucking so he can ease the unrealistic fears that plagues him constantly. But Harry’s just so fucking tired of convincing him that everything is fine. He’s trying to fight down the hungry anger that threatens to wash over him. It’s been so long since he’s felt comfortable with Draco, happy. He hates himself just admitting it in his head. But how can he be comfortable with someone that's deteriorating as each day goes by?

It’s as if Harry's veins have been injected with a prickly dose of self-loathing so strong it's starting to flare up every time Draco has a panic attack or whines about something Harry has no control over. He wants to throw something or _slam_ something into the wall. Sometimes he has a mental image of slamming _Draco_ into the wall and is hit with such guilt that he bites his chaffed lips hard enough to taste coppery blood. The sharp pain always pulls him back from his impending fury.

Draco’s distraught voice fills the room. “You don’t tell me things, Harry. I’m an open book. I tell you everything. Every damn embarrassing thing. You  _don’t_ trust me.”

“Constantly talking isn’t necessarily communicating,” Harry mutters.

“I don’t do that. I want to _know_ this part of you! I want to know _all the parts of you,_ ” Draco hisses. “Merlin, I don’t constantly talk! People have to share things, Harry…that’s what intimacy is. I’m really upset that you said that to me!”

“Draco, you can’t possibly understand the things that go through my mind, especially at night. Nor would I want you to.”

“What makes you think I can’t handle it…or that I don’t suffer just as you do?”

Harry doesn’t respond, he just shoots Draco an incredulous look. What he wants to say is: how in the bloody hell can you handle my nightmares if a simple disagreement sends you into a panic attack? But Harry keeps silent. It’s better this way, for both of their sakes. He closes his eyes and wills himself to fall asleep. His silence is met with an infuriated huff from Draco, who gathers a pillow and pulls their heavy duvet from Harry’s body. He exits the bedroom.

Harry doesn’t sleep at all that night.

* * *

 

Harry is sprawled out onto the floor, a thin layer of ketchup across his neck, his eyes wide, staring up at the ceiling, and arms spread out. They haven’t played a prank on one another in a while, and Harry is dying to see a smile on his boyfriend’s face. Lately it has been nothing but fighting, and he’s tired of it. The silent treatment itself lasted for two weeks, despite Harry’s attempts to make it up to him. He’s visited _The Watering Can_ more times in the past two weeks than he can count. Every day the littlest thing sets Draco off into a rage or bouts of frustration and it scares him. But today, today has been a bit better. Draco practiced on the piano earlier, did laundry, and even made Harry a cuppa earlier without him asking. In the past, that always signified a white flag. He hears the click and swing of the bathroom door and waits for Draco to pounce on his seemingly lifeless body, ready to share apologies, lick up the ketchup and snog each other silly.

Instead, he hears the shuffling around in the main bathroom and the heavy stomping of leather boots. Draco enters their sitting room and carelessly steps over Harry’s form as he grabs his coat from the coat rack. “I have to get the fuck out of here…I can’t breathe!” he shouts. “Don’t wait up for me,” he says, his voice carries beyond the door as it slams shut behind him. Harry sits upright now, the ketchup oozing its way down to his collarbone and onto his t-shirt. He stares at the front door for a long while, completely in shock at Draco’s abrupt exit.  

* * *

 

When Harry arrives home from the Ministry, the first thing he does is enter the kitchen for tea. It’s been a ridiculously long day of staking out suspects, along with Kingsley hounding him about upcoming Head Auror training, a job he feels should go to anyone but him. It’s then that he realises the mess in the kitchen. What looks like green pesto sauce drips from the counter to the floor and seems to be oozing down the walls as well, where spinach, penne, chopped onions and cherry tomatoes lie.

Harry quickly back peddles out of the kitchen, pulling out his wand as his mind becomes alert. As he enters the living room, he notices that Draco’s favourite vase has been shattered, the pieces collecting along the wall. A cup of tea is spilled across the coffee table, a piece of parchment soaked in its waste.

“Harry,” croaks a voice. He spins around to see Draco standing in the doorway, his neon orange fringe falling into red-rimmed eyes and his cheeks flushed.

“Draco. What’s happened here?”

Draco takes a cautious step forward and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I just—I just lost it.”

“What,” Harry starts, looking between the shatter vase and Draco, “brought this on?” Draco gives Harry a pained look before closing his eyes. Harry panics that perhaps the question has triggered him all over again. “Hey,” Harry says, rushing to Draco’s trembling side. “You don’t have to talk about it, I’m sorry,” he hugs the other man tightly.

“Mother…”   

He suddenly starts to gasp for air, squeezing his eyes shut as fat tears roll down his cheeks. Harry immediately tugs him towards the couch, pushing him down. Draco throws himself onto him once he’s seated next to him, sobbing uncontrollably onto his shoulder.

“Draco!” Harry cries out in alarm. “Please, please tell me what’s happened.”

“Mother,” he croaks. “She’s sick, Harry…she’s…really sick,” he says in between his sobs.  

“Oh, Draco,” Harry says, his eyes stinging.

“She says, oh god, she says that it’s a curse, reproducing internal scars from dark magic she sustained during the War. They-they tortured her and she never told me,” he cries. “They _tortured_ my Mother, Harry,” he sobs even harder.

“Oh god, Draco. We-we need to go see her, right now. We can-we can, figure this out with her, okay? Find some curse-breakers and—”

“Harry,” Draco moans. “Harry, please—?”

“Anything.”

“Please hold me.”

Harry wraps his arms tighter around Draco, rocking him slowly until his angry, gut-wrenching cries taper off to soft whimpers, and then silence. 

* * *

Harry’s leg is shaking as Kingsley wraps up their briefing. Smith is slouched in the chair beside him, his partner obviously anywhere but at this meeting. Harry takes a gander around the room and realises that everyone present seems about ready to pass out. Harry glances down at his watch and it tings 7pm. He can practically hear Draco’s voice in his head, scolding him, saying, _“you’re gonna be late, you bloody moron!”_. Harry sighs deeply. He’s about to be late to one of Draco’s cello performances and he had promised him he would be right on time.

\---

When he finally enters the small club, it’s in full swing. The live performance has long been over, but he’s surprised to see Draco still on stage with his instruments unpacked. He notices that Draco is perched in his chair on stage chatting animatedly with a young, dark-haired man. His face is bright, a bit sweaty, and he’s grinning ear-to-ear at the young man.

Before he can think, he’s on stage with them.

Draco’s smile falters and the dark-haired man clears his throat and excuses himself, shooting Harry a hesitant smile.

“Have a good night, Brian,” Draco says cheerfully after the other man who nods and exits the stage. Draco’s face is blank at once as he glances at him, “Fuck off Harry,” he says calmly, standing from his chair to gather his belongings.

“No.”

“Well then, if you don’t mind I’d like to gather my things and head to the back for my break.”

“Who was that?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

“A colleague, Harry.”

Harry stands stiffly as he watches Draco pick up his bow and pull at the loose strings. He doesn’t look at him at all and this feeds the anger in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m sorry I’m late. There was a meeting and—”

“—I really don’t give a fuck what kept you. I don’t want to have this conversation right now, so if you could please _leave_ , that would be great.”

“Don’t do this, Draco. I was at _work.”_

“This is _my_ fucking _work!_ ” Draco snaps, spinning to face Harry. He takes a deep breath, his eyes fixed over Harry’s shoulder as he scans the crowd. “I don’t want to do this _here_.”

“I said I’m sorry.”

Draco turns from him again and walks to the back of the stage and off to the side. Harry follows him to a small back room where other members of the band are gathered. They all welcome Draco with smiles, hellos, and praises for his performance as he makes his way to an off-stage gathering space. Harry follows him into the small room that’s moderately decorated. There’s a comfortable looking sofa, a chair, vanity and an assortment of soft drinks and water on a table. They’re blissfully alone.

“What do you want me to say, Harry? That this is okay?” he asks, crossing his arms against his chest. “I requested _weeks_ ago that you make sure you’re here on time. You _knew_ how important this performance was for me.”

“Was that man part of your performance team or…?”

Draco huffs and pins Harry with a hot glare. “Are you serious? He’s my _colleague_ , Harry, so yes he was part of the team. We were just talking about the bloody set.”

“Are you always that chummy with your co-workers?” Harry asks, his gaze penetrating. Draco’s lips curls upward into a sneer as he glares at him. He then opens his mouth and shuts it. He gives Harry an incredulous look as he uncrosses his arms to run both hands through his hair.

“What the hell is your problem? I can’t believe you’re doing this— _wait!_ Actually, yes I can! You _always_ do this. Anytime you know you’re in the wrong you somehow make this into something you _think_ I’m doing wrong.”

“You were _flirting_ with that git right in front of me, Draco.”

“I wasn’t flirting with him,” Draco says quietly. “He’s my friend. Really, Harry. This jealousy thing you do lost its appeal a long time ago. I don’t like it anymore.”

“I saw…” Harry stops. He sounds pathetic accusing Draco. But it’s not without reason that he feels this way. He remembers exactly when these thoughts started plaguing his mind. Last month during the DMLE’s New Year’s Eve party, he had caught Draco flirting with one of his co-workers. He had claimed it was all harmless fun, that in earnest, it didn’t mean anything, just taking the piss out of Harry’s drunk, silly co-worker. Harry believed him, and they had quite amazing sex afterwards, but ever since then he’s kept an eye out for even the smallest hint of…something. He's being silly. He swallows and shakes his head, lost for words, but his expression immediately fills with remorse.

“You’re the bloody Saviour of the Wizarding World,” Draco starts, stepping close to him, his eyes boring into his. “You’re the bane of my existence _and_ you fuck me every night into oblivion. Your name is the first that crosses my lips in the morning and the last to leave them at night. You’ve scared me, you’ve hurt me, but above all else, you make me happy and you make me feel alive…these are all things I’ve allowed to happen because I fucking _love_ you. _How_ can you still be so insecure? _How_ can you still question your importance to me? You’re the _only_ person for me—” he’s cut off as Harry grabs the back of his head and crushes their lips together.

Draco melts against him as Harry whimpers, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” against their moving mouths. They kiss feverishly for a few more moments until Draco squirms against him.

“No, stop.”

Harry pulls away immediately, wrapping his arms around Draco's waist and resting his forehead against his shoulder, taking deep breaths.

“You can’t keep snogging your way out of an argument,” Draco mutters with a hint of amusement.

“But it works so well.”

“Seriously, Harry. This is becoming ridiculous. When did we start bickering this much? It’s worrying me,” Draco says, pulling away and gracefully dropping himself onto the couch. There’s something nagging at the back of Harry’s head, like the onslaught of a headache and his vision wavers for a second— _something isn’t right_. There's a faint scratching noise at the back of his head. He looks around the room then, feeling out of place and slightly dazed with his surroundings. He feels as if he's having deja vu. He closes his eyes to steady himself. When he opens them, Draco is pointing to the table with the water bottles. Harry rolls his eyes and snatches one up. He flops down beside Draco, opening the bottle to hand to him.

“We’re crossing that two-year threshold, you know? It’s normal to bicker and lose the plot a bit,” Harry reasons. Draco gives a choked little laugh and shrugs. They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“Maybe your promotion is the cause of all the frustration,” Draco says casually. He’s staring intently at the label of his water bottle.

“I’m going to turn down that promotion, Draco. I’m not ready to be Head Auror.”

Draco looks up then. “Of course you’re ready, Harry. You just don’t want to leave fieldwork. You’re obsessed with entangling yourself in reckless, dangerous situations.”

“That’s simply not _true,_ Draco. I’m just not much of a leader.”

“Harry, you’re either fishing for compliments or you are truly delusional. You taught and led a secret organisation when you were 15 years old. Cut the crap.”

Harry groans and sinks down into the sofa. “I _had_ to lead the group, Draco. Not only did we have a tyrant running the school, Hermione can be quite a pain in the arse when she wants things to go her way. But as an adult, though? I just want to help, not lead.”

“You’d be _safer._ There wouldn’t be any constant fears about you dying or getting seriously injured if you’d take the promotion,” Draco says quietly, taking another sip of his water. "We could seriously plan for the future. A family, even," Draco says sadly. 

That was it. Draco just wanted him to be safe, to guarantee that he’d come home to him every night. To grow old with him. He doesn't know what to say about the last bit. He shifts beside Draco and clears his throat.

“I take care of myself just fine out on the field, Draco.”

“No, you don’t. You’ve been to St. Mungo’s more times than I can count this past year,” Draco snaps. “Are you suddenly developing some compulsion to lie, because I won’t stand for it.” Harry places a hand on Draco’s knee and squeezes consolingly.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight about this, okay?”

“Then take the bloody promotion, Harry. Then we won’t ever have to talk about this again. Merlin, do you want to die and leave me heartbroken, is that it? You want me to grieve for you for the rest of my life like some delusional 80-year-old widow still waiting for her husband to return from sea?”

Harry laughs, “I think you’ve been watching too much telly.”

“Damn right I have because many of my nights are boring. Why, you ask? Oh, because my boyfriend would rather chase criminals than fuck me senseless before the evening shows come on.”

Harry falls sideway onto Draco, holding his stomach as he laughs. “You’re ridiculous! Do you know that?” Looking up, he smirks at Draco’s upturned sneer. “Look, give me some time to discuss it over with Kingsley. We’ll figure out an appropriate time to schedule training and a transition of power, yeah?” Harry says, hoping this will ease some of Draco’s anxiety. He wasn’t lying _exactly_ , he would just approach Kingsley…when the time was right, whenever that may be.

Draco gives him a brilliant smile and turns to give him a quick kiss on the lips. “See? That wasn’t so hard was it?” He glances down at his watch. “Well, my break was over about ten minutes ago. D’you want to watch me play the piano?”

“I’d love to,” Harry says warmly.

* * *

 

“Potter, if I come out there again and you’re still lounging in bed, I _will_ kill you.”

Harry withholds an annoyed sigh. It was nowhere near nine, but Draco wanted to select Harry’s clothing for the evening. “We need the time” he had said, his posh accent sharp and final, allowing for no room for argument. His grey eyes had shrewdly roamed over Harry before he disappeared into their walk in closet. They had been dating for a year now and Harry felt like he knew all of his partner’s neurotic yet endearing quirks, as well as some of Draco’s darker qualities. But every day was a surprise for him – for example, Draco’s incessant need to revamp Harry’s wardrobe.

“Hey, you love my outfits!”

Draco emerges once more from their closet, arms full, in a state of fury. His cheeks are tinged pinked and his lips are pulled in a half-hearted sneer. Harry’s flooded with warmth at Draco’s faux-rage. “What a terrible lie, Potter! There’s a thin line between looking hip and looking _homeless,_ ” At that, he tosses the handful of clothing that he’s cradling onto the bed. Harry stretches and decides now is the proper time to stand from the bed. He walks over and embraces Draco’s fussing form, deigning not to search through the selection of clothing.

“Look at you,” he says fondly, “all hip in your chic clothing and using muggle colloquialisms. I’ve created a monster!” Harry can’t help but admire Draco’s attire for the evening. The form fitting grey chinos he’s picked are tight against his soft, round bum. The bottoms are rolled up just a bit, to show off his ankles, but most importantly to show off Draco’s favourite pair of boat shoes. The crisp white collared dress shirt he’s chosen tonight has the first few buttons undone showing off a wealth of smooth pale skin. Harry shivers as he presses his mouth against Draco’s throat and breathes in his delicate, woodsy scent.

Draco pulls back and gives him a flat look. “If you do not unhand me at this very moment, I will hex you.” He sighs and continues. “ _M_ _ust_ I threaten you the entire night? And for your information, Potter, _I_ figured early on how to blend into normal society. You, on the other hand? Still a complete Neanderthal, and if I’m not mistaken—” his verbal onslaught is caught off as Harry pulls him into a passionate kiss, finally silencing his rant.

He pulls back and Draco’s eyes are still closed, his face twisted with disappointment at the sudden end of their snog. “You’re a complete nutter,” Harry says fondly, pressing his forehead against Draco’s.

“Mm, yes,” Draco murmurs. “I was just about to say the same. _Hell_ , I must be to be date a prat like you. Now come on, I want you to try this on…”

\---

At approximately 8:45pm on a rather warm Saturday evening, Draco and Harry exit Hermione’s fireplace for her 22nd birthday party. Music is already belting from her wireless as they dust the soot from off their clothing. Hermione is seated in front of the fireplace, sipping on a Perrier with her feet propped up on the coffee table as she texts on her muggle mobile.

“Happy Birthday!” they both shout. Hermione’s face cracks into a wide grin, places her items on the table, and she jumps from her seat. She barrels over to them, throwing her arms around both their shoulders in a mighty hug.

“Bloody hell, Granger, have you been taking a strengthening potion? I nearly collapsed from that hug,” Draco says, but his eyes are alit with mirth. Hermione swats him playfully on the shoulder.

“Actually, I have been feeling rather strong lately.” She pauses for a second and lowers her voice. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, you two are the _first_ to know of our friends. We were going to wait to say anything, but…I’m pregnant!”

“Hermione, that’s brilliant!” Harry bellows, quite beside himself. He pulls Hermione into a crushing hug, kissing her on the top of her head and cheek as she giggles, her hands gripping Harry’s upper arms. He feels his eyes gloss over with the threat of tears. As much as he loves Ron and would never fight for the affections of _his wife_ , Hermione would always be his number one girl. They had survived so much during the war, and when they were alone together, surviving the harsh winter in the Forest of Dean, his love for her grew wildly. There would be no other woman in his life as important as Hermione. “You’re going to make an excellent mum.” Harry pulls back to look her in the face. Hermione is also fighting back tears. “The best, in fact! Blimey, Hermione. I’m so happy for you.”

“For us!” she pipes up. “This baby is as much yours as it is Ron and mine, Harry.” Harry’s face crumples and he kisses her sweetly on the lips before he pulls her into a crushing hug once more.

“Damn it, Potter. Am I going to be able to hug the woman or is this going to be a permanent position for the rest of the night?” Draco says crossly, dispelling the ball of emotion that is developing in Harry’s stomach. He reluctantly removes his arms from Hermione and finds himself wiping at his eyes a bit. Draco gives her a wicked grin before slinking his long arms around her slender body.

“You sly wench, you. Well done! How far along are you?”

“Thank you,” she says, squeezing Draco. “A month! Now, not a word from either of you to anyone at the party tonight…”

\---

The party was in full swing by ten. Many of the Weaselys, all of Hermione’s Healer colleagues, Ministry folk, Hogwarts people, and the Grangers have come to celebrate her birthday. Harry has ventured into the kitchen for another cold beverage and notices that Ginny and Luna are standing shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen sink, wands out, washing tumbler glasses. Harry is about to open his mouth when he hears Ginny say quietly, “I’m sorry it happened.”

“Don’t be. I’m not,” Luna responds softly. She sticks her wand into her bun and reaches out to clasp Ginny’s hand.

“I just…I just wish it could be different, s’all. I wish I could have this every day.”

“Gin…” Luna starts.

Ginny freezes at that moment, Harry can tell because he has seen the stiff tension flood her shoulders many a times before. The redhead turns to peer at him over her shoulder and smoothly pulls away from Luna, a smile crossing her face.

“Harry,” she starts warmly, “I’m sure you know it’s rude to enter a room without announcing yourself?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry responds, shooting her a sheepish smile. “I was just about to get another carbonated ginger beer.” Harry refuses to consume alcohol if Draco can’t, despite the other man’s protests. He wanted to be supportive of Draco’s sobriety in every way.

“Go right ahead Harry,” Luna says, stepping away from the sink. “Ginny was being a dear and helping me with the dishes. It’s quite terrible, you know. To have all those dishes pile up in the sink. It’s the least we can do,” Luna smiles, but her wide eyes are full of worry.

“Erm, I can imagine it would be a right mess,” Harry says. He looks between the two of them, quite puzzled not only by their conversation but the way Ginny’s eyes are glistening. Harry wants to ask her if things are alright with Dean when Ron calls him.

“Harry! You wanker, your presence is needed in the sitting room!” Ron shouts. “What? No, no, Harry is going to set the record straight on this! Hell will freeze over before the Harpies win the next match!” Harry rolls his eyes and heads to the fridge for his drink.

“Excuse me,” he says, giving them a nod and a smile before exiting.

\---

He’s in the middle of a heated debate about the upcoming Puddlemere vs Harpies match with Seamus now when he looks over to Draco to see him conversing with Neville and Dean. Their eyes meet and they share a small, private smile before turning back to their conversations. He’s so proud of Draco. Harry knows that sometimes Draco can panic in a room with so many people he’s not familiar with, but he’s handled the night wonderfully. Ron has buggered off from the argument when he realised that Harry was putting his money down on the Holyhead Harpies.

“You’re absolutely mad, Harry. There’s no way the Harpies are gonna win with Parker as the new Seeker for Puddlemere. The bloke is bloody amazing! And fit…” says Seamus.

“I don’t know what his attractiveness has to do with it,” Harry laughs, “he’s talented, I’ll give him that. But the Harpies are conducive with their plays, it’s simply bulletproof.”

“Bulletproof like your relationship with Draco?” Seamus asks playfully, nudging him. The smile on Harry’s face falters a bit. Harry has been dating Draco for a year now. He knows Seamus is aware of just how serious their relationship is. He surveys Seamus with wary eyes.

“Yeah, if you’re looking to compare. Exactly like that,” Harry responds.

“We were a faulty play, weren’t we?” Seamus takes another sip from his Firewhisky, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face.

“Erm.”

“I mean, we tried, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, Seamus, we did. We did our very best.”

“But what if we didn’t do enough?”

Seamus is now dangerously close to him, to the point that his body is nearly flushed against Harry’s left side. He recoils a bit, wanting to put space between him and his drunk friend.

“Careful, Seamus. It seems you’ve put away more than your body weight tonight.”

“Bollocks! I’m fine, Harry. I’m just happy to be able to talk to you, to even be near you.” Seamus has wrapped him hand around Harry’s wrist, tugging it while he talked. “You got away from me and I wished I had tried harder to keep you.”

Harry is beyond uncomfortable now and doesn’t know what to do to put his friend off the sudden course he’s veered on. Gratefully, Harry does not have to think too long about it, because Draco slinks over and throws his arm around his shoulders. Seamus immediately releases Harry.

“Finnegan!” he chirps happily. “You seem absolutely blotto tonight,” Draco says gleefully as he lifts his pumpkin juice in salute and takes a swig, which Seamus meets with a swig of his own drink.

“Yeah, I am a bit. But, I was just, oh, reminiscing with Harry here, you know, about the good old days.”

“I just bet,” Draco drawls, moving his arm from around Harry’s shoulders to slip his hand into one of the back pockets of the denims he picked out for him tonight. “Potter just loves a trip down memory lane, don’t you, love?”

“Hardly,” Harry mutters, but clamps his mouth shut at the painful look that spreads across Seamus’s face. Draco releases a bark of laughter at the uncomfortable air between them and starts to tug at Harry’s back pocket.

“We need to use the loo, mind watching this for me, Finnegan?” Draco holds out his beverage for Seamus to take with his free hand. “Be back in a jiffy, ta.”   

Draco is pulling Harry towards the bathroom, his hand gripping Harry’s hand with such a force it causes him to wince. When they’re inside, Draco shuts the door. Soon Harry is thrown against it. He can practically feel the bass of the music playing from outside thumping against the door. He gives Draco a slow smile.

“You naughty, _naughty_ boy,” Draco purrs. “Entwined and talking to your ex to make me jealous? You know how to make a girl squirm…”

Harry laughs. “You’ve lost the plot—do you know that?” He’s searching Draco’s eyes now with a small smile. He likes it when Draco's jealous. He’s pressed against Harry’s body and must be aware of the hard on Harry is sporting right now.

“Crazy, really fucking crazy, and really fucking turned on,” Draco whispers, leaning in to capture Harry’s lips. Every fibre of Harry’s being is on fire at the slow, tantalising kiss. He’s dizzy with desire as his hands come up to grip Draco’s hair. Their hard cocks grind against each other in wanton need. “I want to fuck you,” Draco says between their kisses. “I have to be inside you _right_ _now_.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Harry whispers as he captures Draco’s lips. “Should we head home?” Harry asks weakly when Draco’s lips descend onto his neck. He whimpers as Draco pulls him down to the cool tile of the floor.

“No,” Draco growls. “I’m going to take you right here.”

Harry gives in because Draco is kissing him in that way that makes him temporarily forget his own name. They manage to get their clothes off between their kisses. Draco’s fingers are like fire as they play across the base of his neck, his bare chest, nipples, and the sharp curve of his hipbone until he wraps his hand around Harry’s swollen, aching cock.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Harry moans, looking up at Draco in awe. His white blond hair has escaped from its immaculate style, the neon orange fringe nearly tickling Harry’s face. He tucks the hair back behind Draco’s ear. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” Draco responds, moving his hand in slow, torturous motions on Harry’s cock. Harry whimpers, every muscle in his body tensing and relaxing. He can feel the heated flush creep across his chest and neck. Draco leans forward and kisses him again. He pulls out his wand and mutters a spell. Harry is bereft at the loss of Malfoy’s hand on his cock. The blond pulls back to slip one slick, long finger into Harry’s tight hole. He gasps and lifts his hips. Draco pumps his finger into Harry up until his knuckle and Harry cries out a soft _please_. “Soon, love,” he mutters as he adds another finger, and soon another, working in and out of Harry in a slow manner.

Harry is nearly in tears after a few minutes of this. He's sweating, muscles constricting, panting, and arching off the once-cool tiles for _more_. He needs  _more._ “Draco, please. _Now_.” Mercifully, he pulls his hand away and lifts Harry’s legs so that they're sat over his shoulders, lining himself up to Harry’s entrance. Harry knows that if they were shagging anywhere but at their friends’ house, the bastard wouldn't make this one long, drawn out affair. With an amused twitch of his mouth, he realises that Draco's probably turned on by the thought of being caught. Nearly in pain with want, he's about to cry out a stern _now_ , when in one swift, hot motion Draco buries inside him. Harry cries out at the full impact. Draco stills.

“Harry,” Draco pants. Harry shivers and draws in a shaky breath. Even though they’ve been dating for a year, Draco still calls him Potter. Only, when they’re sharing these intimate moments would he call him Harry.

"S'good," he whispers, nodding his head. "Move."

Draco fluidly draws back his hips before pressing slowly back into him. Harry arches up, a moan escaping him as his eyes flutter shut. “Look at you. Do you know how you look?” Draco's staring down at him with a look that's part astonishment and part desire, now pressing into Harry with strong, swift snaps of his hips. Harry cries out, his fingers digging into Draco's forearms. " _Fuck_ , Harry..."

Harry opens his mouth, but the words that escape him aren’t English, they are a babbled, jumbled mess of sounds. Draco laughs breathlessly. Harry is so utterly taken he can barely be arsed to form a word, let alone a sentence. “You really are a slut for it, you love my cock in you, don’t you Harry?” A needy whimper escapes Harry’s lips as his back again arches off the tile floor. Draco tightens his hold on Harry’s hips and they’re rocking slowly against one another now, Harry’s able to whisper Draco’s name and _yes, right there_ , wanting so badly for release but wanting to savour every second of Draco's weight on top of him, the feel of him pressed inside him, the way his fringe hangs over his eyes. He wants this moment to be burned forever into his memory.

Suddenly the music from beyond the door is spilling into the bathroom, cutting his train of thought just barely. Harry, bewildered, looks up at the open door. Seamus is standing there staring down at them with wide, darkening eyes. Harry flinches at Seamus’s intrusion. Draco thrusts, one, two, three times and each time he strikes Harry’s prostate with a fierce precision, and he cries out, eyes ripping away from Seamus's flushed face. The door shuts. Draco comes with a deep, wild shout, Harry along with him.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Draco pants.

“I know…I reckon we should have locked the door,” Harry pants, still coming down from his orgasm.

Draco pulls away from him abruptly, cock slipping out uncomfortably, and he releases a disappointed sigh, having wanted to at least hold Draco for a few more minutes. 

“Why the hell is he always around you?” Draco mutters. He's on his feet now, wand in hand. With a flick of his wrist they are clean from their activities, and Draco is throwing his clothes on in a rush.

“You know Seamus, he’s a right nuisance when he’s drunk.”

“Yeah, but you keep entertaining him. Do you still have feelings for him?” he asks angrily.  

“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco.” Harry has scrambled to his feet, still naked, and tries to reach out for Draco but he pulls away from the touch, slightly raising his hand in a _stop_ gesture. His pants and trousers are on and he’s now buttoning his shirt. Harry shakes his head and begins to throw his own clothes on in haste, his eyes barely leaving Draco. The blond is smoothing his hair back into its proper place in front of the mirror when Harry is finally fully dressed.

“I thought you were just taking the piss flirting with Finnegan. But I guess you had other motives tonight?” Draco asks sharply. Harry gapes, his mouth open in shock.

“You have got to be kidding me, Draco,” he says. “You know I wasn’t flirting with Seamus at all.” Draco spins on his heels to face Harry.

“I saw how you looked at him when he opened the door! You were practically begging him to come fuck you, _begging_!”

“Draco, stop!” Irritation pricking, he reaches out for Draco again. The blond deftly avoids his grasp once more.

“You don’t give a fuck about me!” he shouts. He knows Draco isn't all the way there. He’s known the full extent of it three months into the relationship. The blond suffers from bouts of depression, anxiety and low self-esteem but why _now._ Why when they were just enjoying themselves. “You know you’re not making sense, Draco. Why are you doing this?” The other man is breathing heavily and turns away from Harry.

Something was wrong. Isn't this the first time they've ever fought? Harry doesn't want to start down such a path. He wants them to talk their problems out, not turn away from them. He loves Draco and cherishes what they have. So why—why did Harry feel like he's losing him? Like a part of him is being carved away at Draco’s belief that Harry doesn’t care about him anymore. He feel so—heavy, burdened, g _uilty._

Harry tries to reach out to him but a sharp, twisting pain rips through his head and he screams, falling to his knees as he clenches his head. “No, no…this…this isn’t right, you _know_ it’s not right, too!” Harry cries out. “Draco, please talk to me.”

He looks up to see that Draco is still facing away from his, his arms wrapped around his body. He tries to reach for Draco, but a faintly familiar screeching noise rings through his head and it sounds like nails on a chalkboard. It causes a violent shudder to rip through his body. He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes from him. Instead, just ripples of pain shoot from the base of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes. He remembers. Oh, god, he remembers, he remembers what they've done, why he's here reliving this troubled memory, and he cries. Their breakup. Ron and Hermione's secret. Luna's facility. Dean looming over him with a metal helmet. Draco's engagement ring. He remembers. He remembers everything.

The pain subsides, however, when Draco's hand touches his face. Harry didn’t even realise that his eyes are closed or that he's crying. When he opens them, he sees Draco’s concerned face. The very room and air shifts around them. Everything looks sharper and there's a haziness he hadn't noticed before, thick and nearly impenetrable, that's suddenly lifted from around him. They stare at one another.

“I'm here,” Draco whispers. “Right here, right where you need me.”

“Draco, they’re erasing you,” Harry says miserably. He doesn’t know how exactly this has happened, but the moment of lucidity pushes him forward-- Draco is now finally with him and it causes a flare of determination to unfold in his chest.

 _I’m not going to lose Draco._  

“I’m sorry,” Draco sighs, “I’m so sorry for all of it, Harry.

“I need it to stop before I wake up and I can't remember what we have...what we are to each other. I can't imagine it, Draco, I don't want to imagine it. What should we do?”

Draco frowns and sits cross-legged in front of Harry. “I don’t know, but we’ll have to come up with something soon. Once you hugged me you started snogging me, and you said—”

“—Draco, you have to know and believe me when I say it’s you. It’s always going to be you. I love you,” Harry says, recalling the memory.

“Yeah, I was being kind of a prat, wasn’t I?” Draco asks, his cheeks pinking. “I just bloody hate Finnegan. He gives me the creeps.”

Harry smiles. “He's harmless.” 

“Okay, we’re getting side-tracked,” Draco says with a shake of his head. He stands up and Harry follows suit. “I wish we could move onto a different memory.”

“A happier memory?” Harry asks.

Draco quirks an eyebrow. “Can you recall any negative memories of us right now?” he asks. Harry leans back against the sink and closes his eyes to think.

“No…” he says slowly. “I mean, there has to be, there  _should be_ , but I can’t think of a specific one at all.”

“It's probably been erased or will be soon,” Draco says, waving a hand dismissively. “I'm sure it's because of the erasure that you can't pinpoint a specific memory, but the sentiment is still there. I think we should just head back to the party."

“Okay,” Harry says, nodding. “Honestly, where would I be without you?”

“If we don’t hurry this up, you’re going to find out,” Draco whispers. Harry pales but Draco reaches out to grasp his hand. “Harry?”

“Yeah?” He turns to look at his boyfriend.

“I love you.”

“I love you more,” Harry says softly before opening the door to head back to the party.

* * *

 

“Harry?” Draco asks, suddenly putting his chopsticks down to look around the restaurant. Harry quirks an eyebrow, slurping up his noodles.

“Mm?” he hums.

“I will always like this restaurant,” Draco says, smiling devilishly, leaning forward to kiss him. Harry blushes.

“I thought you hated PDA?”

“I _did,_ until you came along.”

“What is it that you said?”

“'Harry…are we like…are we like those _bored_ couples you always feel sorry for in restaurants?'”

Harry chokes, laughter bubbling up his throat. He chews quickly and swallows.

“That’s it.”

“You know, are we _the dining dead_? I can’t stand the idea of us being a couple people think that about.”

They’re sitting next to each other in a dimly lit restaurant in Soho, tucked away tightly in a discreet corner booth. They’ve been dating for six months now, and Harry can’t believe how happy Draco makes him feel. Not only is the man insatiable, he’s gentle, wickedly funny, and quite barmy. Harry loves him. With a look around the place, he does notice the reserved, boring atmosphere of the restaurant. No one is _really_ engaging their dinner dates.

“We could never be like that.”

Draco snorts. “You got that right, we're like that crazy couple, what's their names? The musician that supposedly stabbed his girlfriend in a drugged up haze?"

"Er. Sid and Nancy?" Harry suggests.

"Yeah, that's it, we're going to be the Sid and Nancy types,” he says, picking up his chopsticks to move around his food. “How’s the noodles?”

“Here,” Harry says. He forks a bit of Hokkaido ramen, having abandoned the chopsticks much to Draco’s protests, and lifts it to Draco’s mouth. He grins when Draco’s stretched mouth closes around the utensil, the sight makes all the blood in him rush south.

“Mm, very yummy. And not a tad bit boring.”

“Wait,” Harry murmurs, his eyes narrow as he grasps Draco’s chin. “I think you’ve got a bit—yeah, you’ve got a bit of _something_ right here.” He swipes his thumb across Draco’s bottom lip. “No, it’s not gone yet.” Draco’s fighting back a chuckle when Harry leans forward, his tongue darting out to lick his lip before licking into his mouth. They kiss languidly before Draco pulls away, shyly looking around the restaurant.

“We’re in public!”

“Hey, I can’t help it if we’re too much excitement for these old boring couples out here,” Harry says grandly. He kisses Draco’s cheek. “Should we look at the dessert menu? I’d rather like to lick something sweet off you next, and I think we’ve got time.” He litters Draco’s face with little kisses until the blond gives him a nod, a smile creeping across his face.

* * *

 

“Tell me.”

“No.”

Draco lays staring up at the ceiling. They have just finished making love on the floor of the lounge room. There’s only an hour left until their friends arrive for dinner, but they’re not in any rush to move. Harry has been trailing lazy kisses across Draco’s bare shoulder. He’s so pale and his skin is so soft under Harry’s lips. He wants the other man to tell him what’s been bothering him. He knows how deft Draco is at compartmentalising his feelings—but there’s always a boiling point where it starts to overwhelm and burst at the seams. He knows when he’s hiding. His cold grey eyes shut off from their environment and his voice becomes flat and emotionless. He twitches, counts breaths, arrange and rearrange to release the tension, and this hurts Harry the most. He wants to see the centre of Draco, and after nearly five months of dating, he wants to drown in the essence of him.

“You said before you wouldn’t laugh, but you did.”

“I won’t laugh this time,” he says softly. “Hurry, in case we forget this forever.”

Draco inclines his head ever so towards Harry, peering at him through hooded eyes. He’s silent for a while before he clears his throat. “I finally saw it, Harry.”

“What?”

“ _The look_. The look everyone wants someone special to give them in their lifetime. I saw it all over your face…and no one has ever taken a risk on me like that and not been hurt or disappointed.”

“Draco, you’re doing that thing again where you’re being completely vague and confusing me.”

“No, listen to me. What if I fuck this up?”

Harry kisses him fully on the lips. “You won’t. _We_ won’t.”

“I  _already_ fucked it up. Look what’s happening to us.”

“Draco, we’ll probably _both_ continue to fuck this up, but I won’t ever let you go. We just have to remember through all the muck the most important thing— we love each other.”

Draco curls around him, his nose nuzzling against his throat. “Remember me.”

* * *

 

“Potter, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

They’re sitting together on Harry’s lunch break at Postman’s Park, finding the area peaceful and perfectly positioned between where Draco works in Muggle London and the Ministry. He’s had a blissful ninety-seven days and counting as Draco Malfoy’s boyfriend. Of course, the _Daily Prophet_ had a field day upon them going public as a couple. 

 

 

> _OUR SAVIOUR UNDER A SPELL_?

 

 

 

> _IN LOVE WITH FORMER DEATH EATER! HAS HARRY POTTER FINALLY LOST IT?_

 

\--was written across the paper for weeks, but soon was replaced with titles like,

 

 

> _LOVELY COUPLE SPOTTED!_
> 
>  
> 
> _A CUP OF SEXY FOR TWO?_

Pictures of him and Draco shopping or dining or even going for a stroll seemed to always end up above the fold in the paper every time. But these last couple of weeks the papers have calmed down, with just one or two pictures of them spotted in the gossip section. Draco has speculated that the lack of anything scathing probably has to do with his Mother giving Skeeter a proper dressing down and threats of blackmail. Draco called it just another day at Ladies Luncheon. Harry was appalled to learn of the possibility, but was grateful nonetheless for the disappearance of the skeevier articles. Draco hated the attention as much as Harry did, and that shared hatred made Harry fall just a little bit more for his boyfriend.

Draco has brought two sandwiches, crisps and coffee from the nearby _Pret_. The weather is agreeable, as the misty rain ended a few hours ago causing the park to smell fresh and gleam beautifully in the late summer daylight.

Harry is balancing his sandwich on his knees but decides to place his King Prawn sandwich beside him and turn to Draco, who is sitting very closely. “Of course I know that. Why do you even ask?”

“And I can tell you anything, without judgement?”

“Draco,” Harry says, nudging him. “Of course. Why?” Draco sighs and places his own sandwich down. The park is usually busy now of day but they’re near the far corner by the discarded tombstones.

Draco leans in and presses his soft lips against Harry’s. “That’s why.” Draco then kisses his jaw. “And that.” He finally kisses the tip of his nose. “And that…because I care about you. Because,” Draco pulls away slightly, unsure. Harry places a comforting hand over his and squeezes. “I feel like…” 

“Go on,” Harry urges gently.

“I feel like we can be forever,” Draco says, his face turning pink. Harry releases a soft, happy sigh. His eyes are bright as he surveys his boyfriend and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “I know I’m not always so…fuck…so emotional about it, but, well, I’ve never felt this way before. I feel like I can grow old with you. You’ll still be a pain in my side, annoying prick that you are, but you’ll be _my_ annoying prick.”

“I love you, too, Draco,” Harry says with a chuckle, grasping his hand. 

* * *

 

Harry’s exhausted, but finding Draco here, finally, near the beginning sends a jolt of relief to his overexerted body. He’s eternally grateful when Draco’s co-worker points him to a semi-secluded corner of the bookstore. Instead of approaching him, though, he does something he didn’t do the first time around. Something he hasn’t done for a very, very long time.

He watches Draco.

Draco is dressed in an oversized royal blue jumper, one that shows just a hint of his collarbones, and tight black jeans. He has a cart of books in front of him for re-shelving and he’s humming softly to himself. He’s quick yet precise about it, scanning the titles and slipping them back into their rightful places without hesitation, but occasionally pauses to push his pale pink fringe from out of his eyes. He lingers on one paperback, _The Book of Questions,_ Harry notices, by Pablo Neruda. He places that copy to the side, no doubt so he can purchase it later. Harry’s heart aches at the simple sight of him and he’s so amazed by Draco’s beauty that he slumps against the bookshelf to catch his breath.

As if realising he’s being watched, Draco slowly turns around and their eyes meet. “Oh, it’s _you_ ,” he says, his face withdrawn.

“Yeah,” Harry says, coming forward. Draco turns back to the books, trying but failing to ignore Harry’s presence. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Draco snaps. “I honestly didn’t think you’d show your face after the wedding. You know, since you were so humiliated.”

“I just needed to see you, and er…”

“Out with it, Potter.”

“Like I said then, I’d like to take you out, Malfoy.” He can see Draco’s whole body freeze at once, eyes suspicious.

“Why? You’re practically married to Finnegan.”

Harry smiles. “No…not married.”

Draco studies him for a moment longer before rolling his eyes. He picks up a book and looks at the title then at the shelves before him, lingering. “Look, Potter. I’m telling you right now, I’m quite high-maintenance, so, I’m not going to tip-toe around your current relationship with Finnegan…or whatever it is you’ve got going with him. If you want to be with _me_ , you’re with _me_ ,” Draco says, walking away from Harry, tugging the cart with him.

“We’re, er, not together anymore.”

“Ah, right…” Draco says, shoving the book in its proper place, with a little bit more force than necessary. “How’s that going for you?”

“It’s not going at all, _we’ve broken up_. A while ago, now. I’m a free agent.”

“Okay. Well, if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it proper.”

“Okay.”

Draco sighs, placing a hand on his hip. “Too many guys look at me like I’m a concept, like I’m going to complete them—make them _alive_ , or save their lives. But I’m just a fucked-up guy trying to look for his own peace of mind. Do you understand that, Potter? I won’t be able to handle yours, so don’t assign me to it.”

Harry smiles, nodding serenely. “I remember that speech really well.”

“I had you pegged, didn’t I?” Draco asks, a sad smile marring his sharp features.

“Yeah, you had the whole human-race pegged.”

“Hmm. Probably,” he drawls, turning back to the cart.

“I still think you’re going to save my life, though.” He notices Draco’s shoulders trembling slightly. He places a hand on his elbow and Draco faces him once again. Harry wishes desperately that he could take away the pain and sadness he sees in Draco’s eyes.

“I know,” Draco consolingly, lifting a hand to caress Harry’s cheek. “I know.”

“You’re going to hate me, Draco.”

“I could never hate you, Harry.”

“Well, how else do you explain our current predicament?”

“I’m an impulsive wanker?” Draco suggests with a lopsided smile. Harry smiles and pulls Draco into a tight hug.  
“If-If we could just give it another go around, I know it’ll be different.” Suddenly, like the breaking of a dam, Harry is flooded with feelings of regret and melancholy, the realisation that he’s in a race so he doesn’t _lose_ Draco setting his teeth on edge. He’s suddenly shaking and breathing very hard. Draco’s arms creep around Harry’s neck, pulling him in so he can press his lips against his forehead, calming him.

“Remember me, then. Try your best and maybe we can.”

 

 

****


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya,
> 
> I’d like to just apologise for the lateness of this chapter.

_“You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.”_  
―  **Margery Williams Bianco** ,  ** _The Velveteen Rabbit_**

 

 

Harry is usually not an impulsive man.

 

It was once an attribute that Draco loved about him. But with all things, the monotonous rhythm of caution made Draco call him a frightful bore rather early on in their relationship. The mild slight then turned into Draco exhaustingly calling him a silly loser, until finally he was screaming about how big of a fucking prick Harry was as their relationship progressed. Despite all of Draco’s posh mannerisms and elegance, he’s a wildly vulgar and impulsive man. And so, _so_ incredibly indecisive. Harry hates just how indecisive he is. What bothers him the most, is that despite Draco loving music, he’s often adrift when it comes to his goals. He wants to live the life of a musician—a starving artist of sort— but also very much wants to be a gentleman of leisure, living off the trust fund from the Black side of the family. He’s an amazing conversationalist, but also extroverted; charming with all smiles and bright eyes, but can become terrifyingly cold and withdrawn in the matter of seconds. He’s arrogant, cruel, and grossly conniving and intrusive when it comes to gleaning information from others; but compassionate to those who are hurting. Worst of all, he acts on his anger, never sparing a moment to think about the damage his silver tongue may cause when he’s been hurt, but he always apologises. He’s selfish that way. Thoughtless. He’s so thoughtless that he’d even erase someone he loves from his life in a fit of rage, apologising be damned.

But Harry loves him all the same. He clings to that fact as his eyes fly open, sharp static-like jolts running down his body with such surprising force that he cries out. He finds himself draped across several steps of a colourful flat, what appears to be a festival crowding the street before him. Gripped by a flare of frustration he gives a sharp snarl as he stands, hands immediately finding refuge in his already chaotic hair. He can hear Draco’s voice scolding him for the act, wryly comparing his hair to a mop, and Harry gives an exhausted inward laugh. One minute he’s holding Draco in a secluded corner of Waterstones and the next he’s _here_. If the scantily-clad dancers adorning crazy feathered crowns and chest-rattling Caribbean music is anything to go by, he’s found himself at the Notting Hill Carnival. He’s bereft, missing the quietness of the bookstore and the tender kiss he placed on Draco’s forehead. His body is tired and his head pounds in sync to the beat of music. People are screaming in drunken laughter all around him on rain slick pavement, a pale sun peeking through grey clouds and the air sharp with the aroma of barbeque.

“Draco?” Harry calls out, taking in his surroundings as a stream of unknown faces pass him by. A tap on his shoulder from behind causes him to spin around. Draco. His fringe is still that endearing neon orange, poking out from under—what Harry believes to be an utterly _ridiculous_ — wide-brim straw hat. The slow smile spreading across Draco’s face is infectious and he finds himself smiling back as relief floods him. There’s only a beat shared between them before arms encircle one another, frantic kisses peppering faces and fingers grasping clothing. Harry presses his forehead against Draco’s and breathes in his scent. “We’ve found each other again,” Harry whispers.

Draco hushes Harry with the soft press of his lips against his own, his fingers carding through the hair curling at the nape of his neck. They kiss again almost carefully, as if afraid that the very touch will trigger the memory to fracture and slip away from them much too soon.

There’s the now familiar noise of nails on a chalkboard that causes Harry to cringe and pull away from Draco. He tries to swallow back the sudden intense wave of nausea, feeling dizzy all at once. “ _This isn’t right – this isn’t right at all,”_ murmurs a familiar voice in his head.

“Are you having a funny turn?” Draco asks, bewildered, as he places a hand on Harry’s forehead.

It's a sharp stabbing that strikes the top of his head, shooting tendrils of white hot pain down to the base of his neck. With a cry, he takes another deep breath to stave off the unforgiving rush of nausea. The chaos of the carnival slows around him and he titters just over the edge to unconsciousness, his surroundings darkening as his knees buck at the sheer force of the pain. He can feel his body twitching as Draco’s panicked and hurried hands fly across his chest, shoulders, arms. He can feel Draco’s baritone voice reverberating in the cage of his chest as they press together, can feel the rapid heartbeat of the other man, the slight tremble in his touches. Unable to feel his own extremities, his brain faintly registers that Draco is dragging him and forcing him to sit on a kerb as the attack courses through him. Lucid fragments of his memories play out against closed eyelids like a muggle film, piecing together where exactly in his memories they are: Draco in that silly straw hat, his bright orange fringe, the dancers, the music, the smell of grilled food, Notting Hill. His heart races with an eagerness that hurts as it dawns on him that he’s reliving one of his favourite memories: their first date.

He’s then assaulted with images from Neville and Luna’s wedding reception. Luna twirling in a circle, wild yellow and purple wedding dress fanning out around her. Neville stumbling after her, face alit with a grin and a bit flushed—from both alcohol and pure content. Himself, standing in a semi-circle with his arms slung around the shoulders of Seamus, Dean and Ron as they drunkenly sing along with the band. He sees Hermione sitting at a table with a pale, stricken Ginny, both nursing flutes of champagne. Then there’s Draco’s disgusted face, looking down his nose at Harry and then swiftly, that mask of disgust melts from his face and he’s awarded _that_ smile. Merlin, the smile that Harry _breathes_ for. It’s just a flash but he sees the fairy lights illuminating Draco’s sharp features. White blond hair, elegant, strong hands, delicate alabaster skin, straight white teeth behind the cupid bow shape of his mouth flash before his eyes. He had been so surprised at how quickly Draco had gone from unapproachable brooding Aristocratic snob to someone Harry needed. He was still having a weird on-off relationship with Seamus, but he wanted, badly wanted _,_ Draco. Would do anything to have him.

_“This isn’t right, you’re not in the right memory – where are you, Harry?”_

Harry sucks in a breath as the pain from the flash of memories trickle away. He hesitantly cracks an eye open to the bright sun, feeling as if it’s singeing his retinas. He groans as he looks up at Draco. “Just breathe, Harry,” Draco urges, rubbing small circles into the centre of his back. His grey eyes are anxious as they carefully assess his slightly trembling form.

He knows that voice. Has heard it many times. Why the bloody hell is _Dean_ in his head? As the pain slowly ebbs away, he’s able to relax as it settles into a dull throb.

“What was that?” Draco demands from his spot beside him.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, his hands running through his hair to clutch at the back of his head where it still weakly throbs. He rocks forward and groans. “I think they were memories, from before. They ran through my head like – like a short film. My head bloody hurts.” For a moment, he begs whatever almighty force beyond him to stop the dull ache in his head. “Memories that haven’t been erased yet, I guess – but I heard something weird, I heard _Dean_ in my bloody head _._ ” Draco stands, offering a hand to Harry and as he pulls him up, Draco looks thoughtful.

“Is Dean administering the procedure?” he asks.

“Er, yeah, he is.”

“Perhaps you’re hearing Dean outside of this, what, _dreamscape_? Because it is kind of like some abstract form of dreaming, is it not? What did he say in your head?” Draco enquires.

“It sounds like he’s lost me in the memories or something.”

“Harry!” Draco immediately brightens up and places a hand on Harry’s bicep, squeezing briefly. “Maybe we _are_ losing him a bit. You’ve lead us to this memory, it’s possible that he needs to catch up. The only option is to keep moving forward.”

“But I can’t—I can’t control how long we’re in the memory for.”

“The human brain is terribly complex, Harry,” Draco starts with a hint of excitement. “Perhaps you’re unable to control the length of time spent in a memory, but surely you can recall a specific one and take us there. Look at where we are, we’re going through episodic memories! These are recollections as you’ve remembered them to be—you’re the one conducting the movement and I exist within them,” Draco says, crossing his arms and raising a finger to tap against his pointy chin as he hums to himself. The move oddly reminds Harry of Hermione when she’s deep in thought. “It doesn’t hurt that as we move forward, we’re still retaining memories of the past…or at least the _good_ memories from the past. This is excellent progress.”

“So you’re not real?” Harry asks, puzzled.

Draco hums again. “I’m in these memories right along with you, you know, in your head. I’m standing before you, so I’m very much real. Perhaps I’m the Virgil to your Dante.” Harry gives him an amused smile. It’s one of the things that he’s come to love about Draco – his undying knowledge and appreciation for muggle literature. 

“Can’t you be my Beatrice?” Harry asks with a huff.

“Well, we’ve yet to determine if this is a hell of our own making or not,” Draco says with a roll of his eyes. “It’s possible that if we just jump around a bit, run through a memory before the next one you recall takes over, maybe we can outrun the procedure entirely, right? Reach the end before Dean gets there – so you won’t forget all of me at the end of this.”

“That sounds awfully confusing…how do we know when the end is near?” Harry asks with a frown.

“I don’t know, but that’s all I’ve got for you right now,” Draco says, his shoulders sagging.

“So, you…remember where we are, then?”

“Potter,” Draco groans. He releases an annoyed huff. “Clearly you weren’t paying attention to a word I’ve said—”

Harry flushes. “—No! I did. Right along with you. It’s our first date.”

“Brilliant, Potter. It’s nice to know that though you’re being obliviated, Dean hasn’t completely snatched up what little remains of your brain cells.”  
Harry scowls. “Do you think this is funny? Need I remind you that we wouldn’t _be_ in this mess if you hadn’t gone ahead and erased us first?”

“Does it even matter anymore, Harry?” Draco mutters, walking over to a food stall where a muscular, handsome man with smooth dark skin and long tied-back dreads is grilling jerk chicken and serving customers. The thick spicy scent causes Harry’s eyes to water as he saddles up next to Draco.

It’s then that Harry appreciates Draco’s attire in full. He’s wearing a fitted white polo with the tightest pair of navy blue Bermuda cargo shorts Harry has ever seen, his bum perfectly on display and the bit of anger swirling in his stomach eases at the sight. He notices his own clothing – a lightweight black vest with black cut-off jeans and flip-flops. His heart races as he realises just how fit and charming Draco looks standing before him. He shakes himself to snap out of ogling the man and takes a hold of Draco’s wrist. “Are you saying you don’t regret doing this?”

“Of course I do,” Draco says stiffly, eyes narrowing as he wrestles his wrist out of Harry’s grasp. “Let us not forget that you erased me, too, Potter.”

“I did it because I couldn’t live with the thought of being without you, you prick,” he says with strained indignation. “I couldn’t even get your attention, send you an owl to apologise, or-or fight to get you back. I didn’t want to go on knowing about what we shared and subsequently lost. How could you even think I’d be able to survive that. Honestly?”

Draco pivots away from him at that, his slender shoulders curling in as he stares moodily at the grill before them. “Well, here’s your chance to fight, Potter, you know, prove your Gryffindor love for me and all,” Draco says sourly.

“Draco,” Harry starts, anger pulsing through him. “This isn’t a fucking _joke._ ”

“I know that!”

“Then _act_ like it!” he cries. He wants to reach out and shake Draco until he begins to make sense. “My love for you was never the _issue._ ”

“Harry,” he says solemnly as he glances back over to him, “I just wish you had told me then.” He turns to the cook and waves to get his attention. He smiles.

“Wah gwan, handsome?” the man asks in Jamaican Patois.

“Alrite, bredren. Can mi get som jerk?” Draco asks, his lips turning up into a grin. The man standing before the grill gives Draco a surprised look, but smiles brilliantly.

“Ya,” the cook says with a nod, placing a steaming piece of chicken on a paper plate for Draco. “Four quid. Mek mi get yuh numba nuh?” he asks, giving Draco a devilish grin. Harry digs in his pocket for change but pulls out a fiver. Draco blushes, motions his head towards Harry with a shy look and as much of a shrug as his aristocratic shoulders seems pliable to give.

“Ah…” the man says, understanding. He plucks the fiver from Harry’s hand quickly and tosses him a pound which Harry catches mid-air. The handsome man blows Draco a kiss, which Draco returns as they walk off, obviously not threatened at all by Harry’s presence.

“Did he just ask for your number?” Harry asks.

“Of course he did,” Draco says, a smug look on his face.

“You’re an impossible flirt, do you know that?” Harry says with a hesitant smile, ignoring the slight sting of jealousy. He watches Draco pick at the jerk chicken with his fingers and he relaxes. He was always surprised to see the normally fastidious man eat without utensils. On their second date, he had taken Draco for pizza and admonished the blond for eating it with a knife and fork. “You always surprise me, with everything, not just the languages.”

“That was hardly a taste of my intellect and sparkling wit, Potter,” Draco says with a roll of his eyes. “But one _does_ tend to pick up a lot of different things when they live in Brixton, especially from handsome strangers,” Draco says sweetly before biting into the piping hot meat. “And for your information, I speak five languages fluently. Try this.” Draco stops, pulls a piece of tender meat off the bone with two long, pristine fingers and dangles it before him. Harry grabs his wrists, slowly bringing it towards his mouth. He carefully takes the piece of meat in his mouth before giving Draco’s fingers a through suck. He almost forgets that they’re not actually on their first date, that Draco doesn’t secretly harvest a resolute hatred towards him, and that they’re reliving these memories because of their painful mistakes. “Naughty,” Draco chides softly, withdrawing his hand to lap up the remaining juice on his fingers. Harry groans at the sight.

Before his thoughts can wander any further, Draco suddenly thrusts the plate into Harry’s hands and shoves his hand into his trouser pocket to pull out a small notepad and ballpoint pen. Curious, Harry leans forward. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving love,” Draco replies curtly. “It’s desperately needed right now.”

“I can’t believe I almost forgot your note obsession! Come to think of it, you stopped writing them.”

“Well, I wasn’t feeling very positive anymore,” Draco sneers. He folds the small white paper in half and quickly places it on the next seller’s booth they pass. Harry sighs. He used to love watching Draco scribble in notepads and leave anonymous notes of praise and wisdom around the city. Harry frowns at his admission and tries to wrap an arm around Draco’s waist, but Draco deftly avoids the embrace. He doesn’t try again and soon they find themselves across from a booth displaying small stuffed animals. A rather smiley, toothless man moves towards them.

“Choose your pickin’, lads,” he says, gesturing to the stuffed animals hanging from the top of the stall.

“That one,” Draco points to a plush, grey teddy bear.

“You don’t have to take this one, lad, I can give you a different bear.”

“No, this one is absolutely fine.”

“But it’s missing an eye,” Harry’s incredulous tone causes Draco to chuckle.

“Potter, is it not possible for something that’s flawed to still be beautiful? To be _worth_ something beyond its outward appearance?” He hands his plate over to Harry once again and takes the teddy bear from the carnie with a gracious nod. He hugs it tightly to his chest as he walks away. Harry hands the man the quid from earlier and stops Draco from walking off too far ahead of him with a tug of his shirt sleeve. The blond falls back, but avoids making eye contact with him. “I kept him,” Draco says softly, tilting his head down to the teddy bear. “As a reminder of –”

“—what I said. I remember. ‘Sometimes imperfections can make something even more beautiful and special. You’re beautiful just as you are, Draco.’” Harry runs a hand down the length of Draco’s arm, a small smile playing across his face. “That’s what I told you when you picked this teddy bear. I’m a fool for thinking we were talking about superficial marks like the Dark Mark and not your hidden flaws. I’m so sorry I forgot it as our relationship went on.” He searches Draco’s face, but the other man continues to stare forlornly at the teddy bear, refusing to meet Harry’s eyes.

“You practically ignored me, my problems, my grief,” he spits viciously, gripping the bear. “You went from appreciating all my ticks and quirks to wanting me to be this perfectly normal person that never suffered from a war or from the death of a parent. You made me feel crazy…and so… _alone_. All the time. You know, I didn’t mean to do this—” he gestures between them, “to erase us. I guess despite how badly I wanted it—us—some part of me knew you would never be ready for _me_.”

“I’m so sorry, Draco. I’m sorry.”

“I know this now,” Draco says reluctantly. Their eyes finally meet and a painfully uncomfortable twist stirs in Harry’s chest at the defeated look in Draco’s pale eyes. “I just want to know _why_ , Harry. _Why_ did you stop caring?”

Harry pauses, his fingers fiddling with the paper plate of chicken in his hands. At his hesitation, Draco steps away from him, expression fraught with hurt and disappointment.

“Wait,” Harry struggles out, “wait, Draco, please.” He swallows, his hands clenching the brown paper plate.

“We’re here, Harry. We’re _here_ , trying to save our relationship,” Draco says in discontent, shaking his head. “Why can’t you just for once be open with your feelings? Do we not deserve at least an honest talk while we’re here?”

“Facing your pain meant facing mine, and I– I wasn’t—I wasn’t ready, and I was horrible to you for it. And now I’d give anything just to stop this, to try again with you.”

There’s a drawn-out silence between them as the music of the carnival washes over their tired bodies. Draco runs a hand over his face and then grabs Harry by the elbow to tug him gently towards the steps of a nearby flat. He doesn’t sit but leans against a short column of concrete that decorates each side of the steps. Harry follows him without pause and stands beside him, waiting for Draco to say something.

“You stopped sharing things with me. I think that was the hardest part for me, that moment I realised that you were pulling away. I’m sure you can’t even recall the day,” Draco finally says, his hands still clenching at the small stuffed animal. His face is pale despite the heat and his body slightly shakes with every draw of breath. “It was the day my Mother was diagnosed. You held me until I fell asleep and when I awoke, I found myself in an empty bed with a note attached to your pillow saying you’d left with Weasley. I couldn’t believe it, I – I just,” Draco stops abruptly, sucking in a sharp breath, his eyes wet. He looks away. “But when you stopped loving me, well, that became real for me when Mother died. I lost the only two people I ever loved.”

Harry shivers as Draco’s words wash over him. His brain scrambles for the troubling memories of that time, but nothing solid comes forward, and just struggling to make the connection causes him to feel dizzy. He knows that these memories were stolen from him, but there are flashes of something – he can recall intense impatience, anger, and his own self-loathing. Startling above all, he can recall the overwhelming feeling of _loss_ when Narcissa was ill and Draco was grieving. Was he so wrapped up in his own grief over the shift in their relationship that he had hurt Draco? Had he refused to help him while he grieved the loss of his Mother? She was a formidable woman, but had come to care about Harry in her own way. He failed her and Draco.

Shame explodes in his belly and he tries to catch his breath. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. He runs a hand through his hair, the other still holding onto Draco’s barely eaten chicken. He wants to touch him but the fear that Draco will spurn him right now is too great of a risk. “I should have been there for you, the very day you—the very _moment_ you relapsed. I _remember_ that, Draco. I should have found a way to help you, not scold you and push you away.”

“This is not just about my relapse, Potter!” Draco snarls. “I don’t care if you go to the grave regretting that you didn’t _help_ me enough. You stopped _loving_ me. And the most fucked up part about it is that I continued to love you.” Draco shakes his head, a look of disbelief clear on his face. “I _still_ love you.”

“I didn’t fall out of love with you, Draco,” Harry says, his eyes wide with surprise. “I didn’t know _how_ to love you after everything that had happened. I didn’t know how to comfort you, to heal you, but my feelings for you? They never disappeared. I love you. I’m _in_ love you.”

“Harry,” Draco begins, his voice laced with impatient scepticism. “Just stop.”

“ _No_ , listen to me,” Harry says ardently, stepping towards him. “I _never_ stopped being in loving with you. I’m sorry, _I’m so sorry_ that it wasn’t apparent—that I hurt you so much that you truly believed I didn’t want you. That was my failure as a partner, and it’s something that will forever be scorched onto my conscious,” he says, eyes blazing. “For the longest time, you were giving me clues on how to help you and save our relationship. I ignored them. I don’t know how I could have been such an idiot,” Harry lifts a hand to caress Draco’s cheek. He can feel the lump in his throat swell as he wills the threat of tears away. There are flashes now – as if his brain is dredging up bits and pieces of the long forgotten nasty memories. He closes his eyes and can see Draco curled up in bed, crying. He can see Draco stumbling home, drunk. “All those nights you cried yourself to sleep, I should have been stronger, I should have been there for you and not wait until now to notice all the many ways I fucked up. But I _love_ you, Draco, I _love_ you. Always.” Draco closes his eyes and tilts his head forward, taking slow and measured breaths before he meets Harry’s gaze once more. “Please,” Harry begs.

Draco offers him a fragile smile. “Okay.”

“Tell me,” he says fiercely. “Tell me what to do, please. I just—I just want to keep you.”

“Well, Potter. You promised me a fantastic first date, so I suggest you carry on,” Draco says gently. Harry feels his insides unclench. It’s then that he gives in to his desire and pulls Draco to him, the plate of half eaten chicken falling out of his hands. He thrusts his fingers into Draco’s hair, knocking off his stupid hat as his mouth seeks out Draco’s. Draco wraps his arms around his neck, trying to pull their bodies together even closer, the stuffed one-eyed bear caught between their chests. “That’s a start,” Draco says when they break apart for air. He peppers Draco’s face with small kisses as Draco’s lips tug up into a smirk.

“How about we find us a cup of tea, yeah?” Harry asks.

Slowly, the memory becomes vague. It’s as if someone has removed his glasses and the people around them are merely blots of colours moving against an equally blurry mishmash of tints, hues and shadows. Harry strains to hear the fading disembodied sounds of the carnival-goers, but all he can hear are whirls and beeps of a machine. His surroundings go dark, but he hugs Draco tightly, not for a moment letting go.

* * *

Harry stands abruptly from an overstuffed armchair and there’s a clatter of china falling to the ground. After the moment of panic eases away, he realises that he’s standing in the middle of Ron and Hermione’s lounge room, only, it’s _not_ their lounge room. Gone are the various wonky shapes and colours of Rose’s toys, her high-chair, haphazardly hung finger-painted drawings, and multi-coloured throws that decorate the furniture. His eyes snap to the pointed “ _ah-hem_ ,” that sounds to the left of him. Draco is perched stiffly in the adjacent armchair, his flushed complexion that of a white peach against his stark black button up shirt and equally black trousers. He looks impossibly rigid and faintly reminiscent of the man he met at Luna’s wedding, hair pulled back into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck, posture straight, and fingers clenched around a mug with the Chudley Cannons insignia on it. “Can you at least pretend to be normal, Potter?” he drawls, pulling out his wand to repair the broken teacup. It flies into Harry’s readily outstretched hand. “I know this is all rather stressful, but it’s just Granger,” he says with a put-upon sigh.

It’s then that Hermione bustles into the lounge area—a slender Hermione. She looks weird without her protruding pregnant belly, or even the slightly shapelier frame she had after giving birth to Rose. Her wild curls are pulled into a bun to sit messily atop her head, wand pushed between the thick strands. Her too large highlighter-blue shirt is tucked into the front of her tight lime green shorts, toned legs and purple painted toes adding to the fun combination of colours. He closes his mouth, still very much in shock. Hermione fixes him with a puzzled look before sliding her gaze over to Draco who just shrugs. “Are you alright, Harry?” she asks uncertainly.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, awkwardly taking his seat once again. This doesn’t do much for Hermione’s curiosity, as she fixes him with a tightened smile and grave stare. She thrusts a plate of freshly baked biscuits and cheese scones in front of him —Ron’s favourites. He smiles at her and takes a biscuit from the plate. “Love these,” he says. She then turns to Draco, with just the barest hint of hesitation.

“Ta,” Draco says happily, either unaware or uncaring of her pause. He takes a tentative bite of the biscuit and closes his eyes, letting out a soft sound of satisfaction that shoots a tingle up Harry’s spine. “Marvellous, Granger– did you make these yourself?” he asks as Hermione places the plate on the coffee table before them. Her cheeks pink as she grabs one herself and plops down on the settee across from them.

“It’s Granger-Weasley now or you can just call me Hermione. And no, I didn’t,” she starts, a small frown pulling at her lips once again. “To be honest, I’m quite rubbish at baking. Ron made them before he stepped out—all I did was put them in the oven.”

“A vital component to the process.” Draco’s lips twist into a small smile. “And Hermione, it is.” He takes another bite, a questionable look on his face. “Nutmeg?”

“Oh yes, nutmeg,” Hermione says with a nod. “Draco.” She gives him a bewildered look, as if surprised that her mouth could produce his given name at all.

Here they sat –tea and biscuits and _oh yes, nutmeg_ –in Hermione’s lounge. He takes another look at Draco who gazes back at him perplexingly, as if asking him what’s wrong.  

“Oh!” Hermione exclaims, her free hand flying to her mouth. “I forgot the jam for the scones, Harry, could you –”

“—be your servant and go grab it? Of course,” he says dryly as Hermione grins, placing his cup on the side table. “Where is it?”

“It’s in the cabinet, you know, above the cutting board, or…is it above the blender? Ah, just look around for me, please?” He nods, already halfway out the room.

“Right,” he says, quite overwhelmed as he runs a hand through his hair. Once in the hallway, a nagging feeling stops him from moving further down the hall to the stairway leading to the kitchen. Instead, he stands perfectly still and strains to listen to Hermione and Draco’s conversation. 

“So,” Hermione starts, cheerful, “I heard from Luna that you’re a full-time musician?” Hermione asks.

“Yes and no. I’m a musician, but it’s only part-time,” Draco says coolly. Harry can picture him sitting prim and proper in the overstuffed chair, gingerly handling his chipped cup of tea, but eyes sharp and focused on Hermione.

“So is music a temporary thing?” she asks.

“Not at all. I’d like to be full-time, but I just landed a jig at the jazz club by my flat. That was a feat in and of itself.” There’s a pause, and then, “I’d ideally like to get an audition with the London Symphony Orchestra, but I need experience, so...”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – I didn’t mean to sound patronising. I just always figured you’d go into Potions or—”

“—some other profession in the Wizarding World? Yeah, I thought about it too, but so soon after the war and my house arrest, the Wizarding World isn’t all too ready to move on,” Draco says, his voice tight. But Harry hears him give a resigned sigh before saying, “Honestly, I fare better in the Muggle World, much more exciting.”

“I never thought I’d ever hear Draco Malfoy say such a thing. My, the world is changing.” Another pause. “I must admit, when Harry told me he was dating you, I was not at all surprised.”

“Really,” Draco drawls. “And why is that?”

“I saw how he looked at you at Luna and Neville’s wedding. I think he was just nervous, of course, otherwise he wouldn’t have left with us. He would have stayed. With you.”

“Well he certainly made it up to me the next day when he stalked me at work.”

Hermione laughs, “he does have a habit of stalking you. Was quite fond of the activity sixth year.” There’s an awkward silence that follows the comment. Harry hears Hermione clear her throat. “I really appreciated the letter you sent me,” she continues. “I never blamed you for what Bellatrix did—”

“—I could have done something, _anything,_ to help you. But I didn’t. I was weak,” Draco says faintly. “I could have—”

“Draco,” Hermione interrupts. Harry can picture Draco’s troubled face, his pale eyes full of regret and his plump lips slightly trembling. “There was nothing you could have done, she would have just turned her wand on you, or even—”

“I’m sorry, for all of it,” Draco says roughly. “And I know it doesn’t begin to cover all that I’ve done to you over the years…to Weasley.”

“But it’s a start,” Hermione says softly, encouragingly. “I’d like it if we could learn to be…friends. I know Ron feels the same way, too. He would have been here if he could. You’re so very important to Harry, and I want us all to try, okay?”

“I’d like that too, Hermione.” Harry can hear the immense relief in Draco’s voice and smiles to himself.

“Be warned though—if you hurt Harry, I _will_ hunt you down. I’m also quite good at cursed boils, if you haven’t heard.” At Draco’s laughter, Harry quietly makes his way down to the kitchen, a small triumphant smile on his face as he decides it’s time to move on.

* * *

Something soft slams against Harry’s face and his eyes fly open. He’s looks up to see Draco, sweaty and pink-faced, leaning over him in a bed that doesn’t belong to them. His face is adorned with a silly grin and a pillow is clenched in both hands.

“Draco?” he croaks, rubbing a hand over his face. Confusion washes over Harry immediately. “I thought…I thought we were at Hermione’s…wait, where are we?”

Draco pouts, “Happy Christmas to you, too, you prat.”

“It’s Christmas?” he asks, shocked.

“Yes, you should know, you brought us here. It’s our first Christmas together at the Burrow,” Draco announces, dropping the pillow and looking around. Harry’s eyes follow along, taking in the tiny room, the garish orange and black décor and the Chudley Cannons posters on the walls. They’re in Ron’s old bedroom. He had wanted to move forward, but had not pictured anything specific.

“Why are you all sweaty?” Harry suddenly asks as Draco flops onto the bed to curl up against him, throwing one arm across his chest and pulling him close.

“Don’t you remember? I was on my way to the loo when dear, sweetly daft Ginerva pulled me aside and challenged me to yet another match of Seeker’s Quidditch. She royally kicks my arse and I’m forced to sing a Christmas carol after dinner tonight as per our agreement.”

“Ah, yes, _O Holy Night_ ,” Harry says brightly, remembering the wager and Draco’s deep and unwavering voice as he stood before the Weasley family and guests to impressively belt out the song. Ginny was quite put out that it hadn’t been a disaster. “And if you had won…”

“She would have had to sport a buzz cut for all of Boxer’s Day. Damn it! That would have been priceless,” Draco whines. Harry pushes back the sweaty hair from Draco’s forehead.

“Poor thing,” he coos. “Fancy a poke to make it all better?”

“I’m all sweaty, Harry.”

“I love it when you’re sweaty,” he counters, leaning over to nuzzle his nose under Draco’s chin. He inhales the sharp distinctive woodsy musk of Draco that’s mingled with sweat and winter’s air. “I love it a lot.” He flicks his tongue against Draco’s throat, eliciting a growl from the other man. His lips are pressed against Draco’s, his tongue dancing wickedly in the other man’s mouth. Draco pulls back with a gasp, two pink patches high on his cheeks.

“I want to suck you off,” Draco claims his mouth again, “right now.”

“How very chivalrous of you,” Harry nips at Draco’s bottom lip.  

“You know me, Harry. A Slytherin on the streets, but a Gryffindor in the sheets.”

Harry laughs. “Merlin, can I get that in writing, please?” Draco pinches him, and with a yelp, Harry pulls the other man forward, capturing Draco’s mouth once again in a deep kiss.

 _“Do you think we should call Luna?”_ Harry freezes as Draco starts to trace his hand down his abdomen.

“Draco,” Harry starts, breaking their kiss and biting back a moan as Draco dips his hands into his pants to rub his thumb over the head of his half-hard cock. “Draco, I can hear Dean again!” There’s the faint hint of a headache approaching, and Harry now recognizes it as having to do with the erasure. Draco is about to snake his way down his body, when he reaches out to wrap his hand around Draco’s wrist. “Draco, I’m serious,” he nearly shouts, unnerved.

 _“You stole Malfoy’s…pants? Are you fucking serious?”_ Then comes a rumble of laughter. It sounds so familiar but Harry can’t place it.

“Draco, someone has stolen your pants!”

“I hope they’re not any of the silk,” he says, giving Harry a concerned frown. Draco has given up groping him, instead crawling back up to lean forward for a chaste kiss.

 _“—He’s_ MY _boyfriend now. I mean, seriously, they were about to kill each other. I did them a_ favour _. Harry’s too complicated, mate, you’ve even said so yourself. He walks around with that great big heaping chip on his shoulder and it gets old. It only makes sense that Draco starts over – so why not with someone like me? I can give Draco what he needs.”_

 _“Someone like_ you _? Really, Seamus? You’re a shite friend for this, and…you know what? I don’t think I want to talk about it anymore, yeah?”_

_“How am I a shite friend? They’re over, Dean. If anything, I saved Draco—”_

_“BLOODY HELL! Something’s wrong with this thing…”_

_“What are you on about, it looks fine.”_

_“No, Seamus. Why don’t you get your head out of your arse and pay attention? There’s some unusual brain activity going on right here. Do you see that anomaly?”_

_“Merlin, the brain waves are all over the bloody place! Do you think he’s having an aneurysm?”_

_“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear the slight anticipation in your fucking voice.”_  

Harry gasps, scrambling to sit up. “Bloody hell, Seamus is trying to take you away from me! And I might be having an aneurysm!” Draco sighs as he pulls himself up to rest against the headboard of the small double size bed. His hair is mussed on one side, his lips are swollen, and his cheeks are still flushed. Harry’s already short-circuiting brain whirls at the debauched look. Perhaps he _is_ having an aneurysm.

“Harry, you’re not having an aneurysm and we both know that Seamus is a fucking twat, I would never go for him.” 

_“I should call Luna.”_

_“Then I’m out of here, mate. I have an inkling Luna hates me. I should meet Draco, anyway. Didn’t you say Ginny was on her way here?”_

_“Yeah, for support.”_

_“Do you—do you really think that’s a good idea if you’re gonna call Luna over here, mate?”_

_“Bugger off, Seamus! You should worry about your own shite. I can’t believe you’ve stolen Draco from Harry. No one is going to forgive you for this.”_  

“Draco…” Harry whispers. “Seamus must have joined Dean at the flat. He’s _there_ watching the procedure and he’s…he’s bloody bragging to Dean how he stole you from me.”

“Did he really?” Harry nods. “ _Merlin_ , Seamus is a shite friend,” Draco mutters.

“That’s what Dean said. Aren’t you at all concerned over this new waking-life development?”

Draco bites his lower lip and nods slowly. “Yeah, of course I am, Harry, but there’s fuck all I can do about it right now.” Draco runs a hand through his hair. “What else is happening?”

“He’s going to ring up Luna, it sounds like. And he says Gin is coming.”

“I can’t imagine that’s going to go well at all. We need to get out of here.”

Although piqued with interest at Draco’s response, Harry is mildly distracted by the slow disappearance of the Cannons posters. The garish orange and black colours of the walls begin to melt away leaving a stark white behind by the second. Draco curls around him, his face nuzzling against his neck. He turns his head just a bit to peer outside Ron’s window. The snow is starting to come down in blankets, blindingly white. It’s beautiful.

* * *

 

Harry groans as he opens his eyes and is immediately assaulted by loud, white lights. His head feels like it’s a hundred times bigger than it should be and his mouth is dry.

“Potter, are you crazy?”

“It’s been suggested,” he croaks before letting out a pained groan. “I can’t see.” Something is pushed into his hands and a second later he realises it’s his glasses. He shoves them onto his face and Draco swims into view. His boyfriend’s face is drained of any colour as he stands before him. His pretty hair is in disarray, dark circles glaring stark under his eyes. Harry notices that he is folding one of his anonymous notes in half and slipping it between the pages of a nearby magazine. “What the hell happened?”

“You’re in St Mungo’s.” 

“What? Why?” Harry panics, trying to sit up but Draco places a hand on his shoulder and gently pushes him back onto his pillows.

“Well, Saint Potter,” he drawls, “You thought it would be thrilling to run into a collapsing house.”

“What?” Harry asks, confused. He’s suddenly assaulted with the memories of a screaming woman and a criminally insane man. It’s a case that he’s been following for the last month, the deranged criminal enjoyed burglarising homes and leaving it in rubbles afterwards. He gasps. “Did she…did she make it out alright?”

“Of course she did, you daft tosser, you saw to that,” Draco snaps, gracefully sitting in the chair beside Harry’s bed. He crosses his legs and Harry notices that his foot is bouncing, an endearing nervous twitch of his. “You were able to drag the woman out but went back in to save her husband.”

“Did he make it?”

“Barely, but he’ll survive…you on the other hand were struck over the head with a piece of concrete. They caught the bastard responsible…Weasley called me here _after_ you were stabilised, but still in critical condition, the awful sod. I would have arrived sooner had they called _me_ but, well...” Draco tapers off, shifting angrily in his seat.

Harry sighs. He knows Draco means well and is just crossed. “I’ll place you as my next of kin as soon as possible.”

“The fact that you haven’t done so after all this time astonishes me, quite frankly. It makes me feel very, I don’t know, _irrelevant_.”

“Draco, I’m sorry, it was a mistake.” Harry groans, a hand flying up to press against his right temple. “How long have I been here?” 

“Three days _._ This is the first time you’ve opened your eyes. I should go get a Healer, actually,” Draco says, looking sullen. He begins to rise but Harry’s hand darts out to stop him.

“Have _you_ been here for three days?” he asks, noticing just how fatigued he looks beyond his crackling anger. The blond huffs and sits back in his seat.

“Well, I couldn’t just— leave you here alone,” he says, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “Who else would remind you of your idiocy once you’d come around?” Draco finally looks at him, the fury gone from him. He looks almost fragile, his neon orange fringe falling messily across his forehead. “Don’t ever do something like this to me again, Potter. By Merlin,” Draco trails off, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without seeing your stupid face every day.” Harry curls his hand around Draco’s and holds tightly. “I really should go find a Healer.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more,” Draco says tenderly. “You should lay off the field-work for a bit. Then you can give me a break with all this constant near-death business.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Harry says, shifting against his pillows.

“Yeah, I know.” Draco pulls his hand from Harry’s grasp and runs it through his hair. “Don’t I know.”

“You know me, with my Saviour-Complex, it’s a near impossible habit to break,” he says jokingly with a small smile. Draco shifts violently towards him, glaring.

“No,” Draco says coldly. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you love the adrenaline rush. The danger. The way it makes you feel alive and allow you to forget everything else. Don’t lie to yourself, it’s not about _saving people_. Damn it. I hate when you lie, Potter, you’re rubbish at it.” Harry doesn’t say anything. He knows Draco is right. “Even with all this shite we’re going through, you still won’t admit the truth about _this_. Did you think this wouldn’t come up?”

“I can admit it!” Harry says quickly, panic gripping him. “You were right all along; I didn’t want to lose the rush...”

“I’m going to get that Healer now,” Draco says, standing quickly and striding across the room towards the door.

“Wait!”

Before Draco reaches the door, Harry’s Healer comes bustling into the room. His sore head and vitals are checked and he’s deemed to be in stable condition, with a hopeful discharge for tomorrow morning at the earliest. Draco is once again perched quietly beside him, his eyes sharp as he watches the Healer fuss over him before taking leave. The Healer leaves behind Star Grass Salve, urging Harry to get as much rest as possible.

“Bloody hell I’m cold,” Harry whinges as soon as the Healer leaves, tucking the blanket under his chin. Draco uncorks the salve and scoops out a small dollop onto his fingers, carefully bringing it to Harry’s forehead. Draco rubs the greenish substance onto a tender spot where a healing gash he had not known was, causing him to hiss out in pain. When the salve is administered, Harry feels a low thrum of its magic working through him, the swollen sensation in his head immediately easing away.

“Move over. I’m getting in with you.” Before Harry can respond Draco crawls into the bed and wraps his long arms around him, his eyes closing. A thick silence fills the room as Harry struggles with what to say next. He decided that this was his chance, quite possibly his only chance, to finally be open with Draco.

“I don’t want to leave the field. I knew as our relationship went on my stubbornness was a problem, but the need was too strong. What would I have if I left?” Harry murmurs.

“You have _me_. You were always able to come to _me_ to release your demons, Harry. Instead you chose to keep it bottled up and it put a massive strain on our relationship.”

“I…Draco…I didn’t want to _scare_ you with all of my thoughts…some of them are violent, evil, even. Every time we catch a perp—some neo-Death Eater claiming to revive Voldemort…or some…some _monster_ abusing and killing children, I—” Harry’s voice dies in his throat. Draco holds him tighter. “I just want to kill them. Sometimes I even do.” Draco shivers against him. He’s never admitted this to anyone before, not even to Ron and Hermione. He regrets avoiding all the times he could have had this conversation with Draco. But in a sense, being able to come clean now made it easier for him to say these things. “I scare myself every day with these thoughts. I didn’t want to scare you as well,” he repeats again, looking away from the curious look Draco was giving him.

“You wouldn’t have. And you’re not evil, Harry.” Draco caresses his cheek.

“I wish I had told you then,” Harry whispers. “I’m a bloody idiot.”

Draco laughs softly, but it doesn’t hide the gloominess attached to it. “Yes, you are. When we make it out of this, I promise you that I’ll always be there to hear you out, about anything. I can handle it, Harry,” Draco says firmly.

They’re silent for a long while and Harry feels the effects of the potion creeping up on him. Before it can conquer him, he blurts, “I asked you to move in with me.” Draco’s eyes snap open.

They had been dating for nearly a year now, and Draco was at his place almost every day, save for the Sundays he would visit the Manor for brunch. Afterwards he would head to his flat in Brixton to tidy up. He complained about the lack of warmth and “lived in” feeling that Harry’s home had an abundant amount of. The only logical next step was for him to move in.

“I remember.”

Harry begins to chew on his lower lip, his eyes suddenly very heavy. “Yeah, I was nervous about asking you.”

“I know.” The response is quiet. Harry shoots him a look. “I was so happy when you finally did.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, of course, Harry. I hated not being able to wake up next to you every day.”

Harry grins. Draco squeezes him, pressing his lips against Harry’s temple. Harry chuckles as Draco buries his nose in his hair and sniffs languidly. The lights in the room begin to flicker and then shut off completely. The only light visible is streaming in from the window and it’s an unnatural blue light, bright and neon. It illuminates the room with an eerie glow, enough that when Harry peers down to look at Draco, he can see that both of their breaths are coming out in puffs of white.

“Harry,” Draco says, teeth chattering. “Is it just me or have we entered the muggle contraption, the _fridge_?” Harry suddenly feels faint, the sound of nails scraping sounding off in the distance.

“Fuck! They’re erasing you, Draco,” Harry untangles himself from Draco, sitting up to swing his legs off the bed, his head swimming. “Hurry, we should move on.”

Draco sits up slowly, still shivering. “I wish you could just tell them to cancel it.” Harry’s moved over to bench where his clothing is neatly folded. He pulls off his hospital gown and begins to shove on his trousers.

“What the hell are you talking about, Draco? I can’t cancel it, I’m asleep.” Draco has moved from the bed to the bench, sitting carefully on the edge with his arms wrapped around his body. The look on his face is thoughtful.

“I’m just saying, perhaps you should try to wake yourself up.”

“If only, Draco. They’ve got me hooked up to some machine and a laptop. Dean put me under using some spell, I just can’t _wake myself up,_ ” Harry says impatiently.

“What’s the harm in trying? Remember that time I begged you to try calamari and you wouldn’t? Then you tasted it and loved it? Granted, you used _catsup_ like the Neanderthal that you are. But the point is, when you try something new, good things come from it.”

Harry rolls his eyes at Draco before heatedly pulling his jumper on. Draco gives him a pointed glare. Harry throws his hands up. “This is totally not on par with trying _squid,_ but okay, fine. You want me to try, I will. Will that make you happy?”

“Yes, you arsehole.”

“Right! Just a moment, your highness,” Harry drawls. He tries to concentrate and pulls his eyes open with his fingers. Suddenly, the blue tinted light of the room flickers and he –

 

Falls into their bedroom.

 

“Holy. Bleeding. _Fuck_ ,” Harry swears, his eyes wide with shock. He’s standing in the corner of his and Draco’s bedroom, looking at his sleeping form in the middle of the bed and is immediately reminded of being in a Pensieve. The large metal helmet covers his wild black hair, thick silver cords protruding from the sides of it to trail a long silvery corded path down to a laptop perched on a small rickety table Dean must have brought with him. There’s a pop song playing from the Muggle wireless on the nightstand, an open case of beer next to the unfamiliar table and what suspiciously looks like the Victoria sponge cake Draco makes regularly sitting next to the laptop. The room stinks of muggle marijuana and a sharp stab of anger rips through him as he takes in the scene. He realises that his friends are not only erasing his memories, but doing so while obviously have a grand time of it – a bloody party, for fucks sake.

Dean is standing next to the armchair in the bedroom, trying to calm down a giggling and for some reason, half-naked Ginny who’s perched in it. She’s only wearing a pair of pale pink knickers and a dark pink camisole, her hard nipples showing through the thin material, flaming red hair wild around her face.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Ginny starts, voice full of awe. “Such a gift Luna is giving the world, wizards and muggles alike, too.”

“Yeah,” Dean says with an exasperated sigh.

“I mean, honestly—to let people begin again? It’s beautiful. You look at a baby and it’s so fresh, so clean, so free. Adults? They’re like this mess of anger and phobias and sadness, so much sadness,” Ginny says slowly, staring at Harry’s sleeping form. “And Luna just makes it all go away.” Harry tries to shout at them, scream that he _doesn’t want it all to go away._ He swears, kicks the bed, _everything,_ but nothing moves and nothing catches their attention. His foot simply sinks into the furniture and his throat hurts from screaming. She takes a swig from the beer in her hands and shrugs her shoulders. “You _should_ call Luna! You _need_ her.”

“No, I don’t think so anymore. I can handle this.” Dean shakes his head, staring in confusion at the laptop. “I just need to think!” he hisses, his hands waving in the air as he glares at the computer. Ginny watches on, an amused look on her face.

“You’re going to mess something up,” she starts in a sing-song voice. “And really, _Deannie_. There’s no room to fuck around. This is _Harry’s_ _brain_ you’re elbows deep in…”

“Stop. Just, shush— _please_.” Dean takes a deep breath and after a long moment exhales messily. “Okay. _Okay_. You’re bloody right.” Without further hesitation Dean pulls his wand out from his back pocket and sends a _Patronus_ to Luna. Ginny jumps out of her seat then, nearly knocking over Dean to reach the master loo.

“Shit, I’m stoned. I’m bloody near _naked!_ I don’t want her to see me like this, Dean!” her panicked voice cries out. She comes back into the bedroom and grabs her purse before returning to the loo. “Fuck, I look like shit.” She slams the loo door and Dean sits heavily in the vacated armchair, his head falling into his hands.

“Why do you even care?” Dean asks, his voice tight with some unidentifiable emotion. Harry steps closer to Dean as he lifts his head and roots around in his pocket. He pulls out a small box, no doubt the wedding ring he bought for Ginny. He sighs, as if finding strength in looking at the object and puts the box away just before Ginny flings open the loo door. She’s thrown on a pair of jeans, slapped on some lip-gloss, and pulled her hair up into a high ponytail. “I…I want to make a good impression.”

“She’s our _friend_ , she doesn’t care about all that,” Dean says, tracing a circle in the air around his face.

“I know that!” she snaps, her eyes narrowing. “Damn it, Dean. I just want to be helpful.”

“Whatever,” he grumbles. Suddenly a hare appears before them. It opens its mouth and Luna’s voice tumbles out. “ _I’m on my way_.”

“Merlin,” Ginny starts, gripping the ends of her ponytail before straightening her camisole. “We should probably freshen the air and clear the beers,” she gasps, searching the ground, apparently for her wand. It’s then that Harry feels a tug around his navel, like the sensation of Apparition, and spins away from the bedroom.

He’s back in the blue tinted hospital room, panting and the prickling of sweat building on his forehead. He places a hand on his stomach and promptly vomits onto the floor. Startled, Draco jumps from the bench.

“Fucking Merlin on a goddamn broomstick, Harry! Are you alright?” Draco swears, his grey eyes wide as he carefully side-steps the vomit to place a hand on his shoulder.

“I think so,” he responds roughly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The room is still icy cold. He looks around the small room and spots a towel hanging off the edge of the bed and grabs it to place over the bile, not knowing where his wand is right now. “It worked,” he says as he straightens. Draco’s face lights up.

“Indeed? You were just standing there staring off. Wouldn’t respond to a word or yank.”

“It was like being in a pensive, kind of. Bloody weird. Ginny and Dean are in our bloody flat, causing all kinds of chaos…they’ve called Luna to check in on what’s happening with the procedure, I think they’re still unaware of where we are in my memories,” Harry says quietly, sitting on the bench, his entire body spent. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I think there’s something wrong with Ginny, too…it’s like…she’s obsessed with Luna or something.” Harry shakes his head solemnly and meets Draco’s gaze which is sharp and calculating before turning soft with pity.

“ _Oh, Harry_. Sometimes you can be so oblivious. I love you for it, though,” Draco says sadly, coming to sit beside Harry on the bench.

“Why do you say that?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Never mind those crazy bints, Harry. I’m freezing my tits off. We have to get the hell out of here,” Draco hisses, his arms once again curling around his body. He leans against Harry’s shoulder, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m listening now.”

“I don’t have any idea what we should do, Draco,” he says wearily, moving away from the covered bile back towards the bed. He sits on the edge and Draco follows.

“We have to keep moving, right? This shouldn’t change anything. We just won’t try that again; you obviously have some negative reaction to it.” Draco removes his arms from his own body to wrap an arm around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him close. Harry can smell the faint scent of Draco’s posh shampoo and aftershave and he relaxes into the embrace. For just a second, it’s as if no time at all has passed and nothing horrific has happened between them. He still has Draco the way he always does – soft and willing, with his arms wrapped around his broad shoulder, his nose full of his scent. “We’ll think of something,” Draco says softly. Harry stares at him a long time, his eyes flickering across Draco’s handsome face and a wave of affection washes over him.

“I’m nearly at my wits end and you’re – you’re just being you. This is what I love about you, your fierce optimism. Your enthusiasm.”

“You make me sound like some bloody Hufflepuff,” Draco snorts.

“You love it,” Harry retorts. Draco leans in to kiss him on the lips, but he pulls back. “I just threw up.”

“Oh, how terribly disgusting,” Draco says in mock revulsion, leaning over once more to press his lips against Harry’s, kissing into his mouth slowly. He can feel Draco’s lips twitching up into a smile. 

The memory and Draco fade fast around him and Harry feels a bit angry to have to part from Malfoy’s tender lips right now. Even through the fading blue-tinted darkness, Harry can see the window where a bright light is now pouring in quite clearly. He can hear the heavy piddle-paddle of rain against a windowpane and it comforts him.

* * *

It's nearly 3pm and storming outside when Harry’s Saturday rotation commences and he hurries home, hoping Draco has finished moving in most his stuff. As soon as he steps out of the Floo, he flings his Auror robes onto the nearest chair, soothed by the soft sounds of raindrops splashing against the window and Draco’s cello filling the flat. He quietly makes his way to their shared study and library combo to see Luna, dressed in all purple, sitting at Draco’s grand piano while Draco is perched in a chair, his cello between his strong legs, eyes closed as his fingers dance across the fingerboard and his other glides the bow across the strings. Luna then joins him with soft, careful notes on the piano.

He takes in Draco’s closed eyes, his flushed cheeks and his slightly parted plump pink lips. Desire so strong pumps through Harry’s blood veins at the sight—his heart beating against his ribcage as he lets the music Draco is playing wash over him. He’s scared and excited all at once because he _wants, needs_ Draco so badly it pains him. He continues to watch and almost too soon, the song ends on a note of passion thinly disguised as frailty. Harry sighs deeply, quite taken by the duet. Draco finally opens his eyes— they’re dark, lustful, and they meet Harry’s directly.

“Oh, Harry!” Luna says, surprised, “I didn’t even see you there!”

“That was beautiful,” Harry says, voice husky.

“Valse Sentimentale, op. 51 No. 6.,” Luna chirps. He barely hears her. He’s yet to look away from Draco, sitting there in his seat so prim and proper, hair pulled away from his pale, beautifully flushed face. The same flush he gets after playing a piece. Harry’s so hard he can hardly breathe. He wants to press he heel of his palm against his erection, growing trapped along the inseam of his tailored trousers. “I’m going to go. Plans with Ginny,” she says, clearing her throat and tucking a piece of dirty blonde hair behind her ear. With a small knowing smile, she heads towards the door, softly closing the vast double doors behind her. Harry can feel at his back the silencing charm she has thrown onto the door.

He closes the distance between them in a moment, and kneels before Draco and his cello. He pulls his wand from out of his back pocket, sitting it on the ground before carefully running his finger down the A string. He stares up at Draco, his expression grave. Tenderly, he takes the instrument from out of Draco’s hands to place it on the stand beside them. He then removes the bow and places it next to his wand. Draco has not moved from his spot nor has he taken his eyes from Harry. “I need you,” Harry says quietly.

Draco responds by tenderly cupping the back of Harry’s head as he slides off the chair to kneel before him. Tilting his head, Draco presses his lips against his. Harry melts against him, his fingers slowly finding refuge in Draco’s thick blond hair. They continue to kiss until it’s almost frantic, Harry licking into Draco’s mouth as he makes a low whine. Harry’s floating and suffocating all at once and the conflicting struggles are almost too much to bear. He needs to touch him more— to feel flesh. His hands are underneath Draco’s soft jumper, his flesh _burning_ against Harry’s calloused hands. Draco moans into his mouth when his fingertips brush against his pert nipples. Finally, _finally,_ the jumper comes off and Harry is licking, kissing, and nibbling at Draco’s flesh. Harry shifts him slightly so Draco’s sprawled on his back and slowly begins to unbutton Draco’s trousers, tugging away his pants so Draco’s heavy, flushed cock springs forward, so hard it rests against his taut stomach. Harry is still very much fully dressed, but doesn’t care. He’s hell-bent on tasting Draco. His long, pretty cock is hard, flushed pink and leaking. He’s desperate for a taste and grasps it, leading it into his mouth. Taking Draco’s whole length in, his eyes burn at the sweet stretching of his throat, his own cock twitching in approval.

Draco gives a stifled gasp that tapers off into a low, wanton groan. Harry gives one hard, mind-numbing suck before he pulls back and uses his tongue to teasingly lick the underside and then the slit of Draco’s cock before slowly, _achingly_ , bringing it back into his mouth. He hollows his cheeks as he sucks—nodding in appreciation as Draco begins to fuck into his mouth, his hands fisting Harry’s hair. Harry lets his hand wander down to Draco’s balls, giving them a soft caress as he hums around Draco’s cock as Draco cries out, arching into Harry’s mouth with uncontrolled force that Harry gladly takes it. “God!” he cries weakly. “Potter—fuck—I’m going to—” But Harry needs more. He runs his hands up Draco’s thighs, strong and muscular from his rugby training and weekly Quidditch matches. He nudges them as far apart as they’ll go. Harry pulls completely off him. Draco hisses as he wraps his hand around the base of his sensitive cock, his eyes narrowing. “Potter,” he says, eyes dark and tone threatening. Harry just smiles. 

He sits back on his knees and begins to unbutton his own jeans pushing them down quickly before pulling out his cock, heavy and leaking in its abandon. There is lube in the palm of his hand before he can even think to conjure it and begins to slowly fist himself twisting off at the end of his cock as he stares down at Draco. He can come just from looking at him – sprawled out before him, long and sinewy alabaster limbs already shiny with sweat, cheeks and throat flushed red, eyes smoky with lust and the corn silk coloured hair that decorates his body obscenely soft. Draco gives him a small needy whinge and Harry leans forward, his tongue lapping at the salty sweet skin on the curve of Draco’s sharp hipbone, causing him to arch and moan. When he does, Harry slips a lube slick finger into Draco’s tight hole. They both gasp as he fucks him slowly with just the tip of his index finger, the hole unbearably tight around it. Draco pulls his knees up to his chest, giving Harry more access to his hole. He takes another finger and adds it, and another as he continues to loosen Draco rocks back against his hand, eyes closing and Adam’s apple bobbing between choked moans. 

“ _Harry, please!_ ” Draco cries, his hand reaching down to pull away Harry’s fingers. He rolls onto his stomach and lifts his arse into the air before turning to give Harry an indignant look. “Fuck me, _now_.” That frantic utterance from him seems to break Harry’s resolve. He slowly pulls Draco’s cheeks apart and spits into the loosen hole before sliding a finger in, causing Draco to shiver and let out a filthy little moan. He then removes his finger and places his hand on Draco’s hip as he leads his cock with the other to line up against Draco’s glistening pink hole. He pushes forward, his body flushing with unabated heat as the crown of his cock deliciously pops into Draco. Harry pants as he stills against him, both arms now on either side of Draco’s hips as he rolls his hips, pressing inch by excruciating inch into him. Draco’s legs obscenely spread wider for Harry. It’s at first slow and languid, but soon he’s picking up speed, the sound of skin slapping skin and his and Draco’s moans and cries filling the study. The rug is scrapping harshly against Harry’s knees and he can’t even imagine the rug burn Draco is getting on his own bare knees, but he doesn’t think either of them will care— he wants more, and more. And he gets it— Draco’s gaze back at him causes Harry to lose his breath. He feels like he’s fallen into those pale grey pools, completely submerged in Draco – the rapid beat of his heart playing in Harry’s head like music, his scent, his moans, the heat of his flesh surrounding him as he continues to fall deeper into that alluring gaze. Harry can’t help but think that this is what it feels like to drown in the very core of someone, and he can feel his eyes burning with shame at the thought that he was going to give _this_ up, this wonderful feeling of being truly connected to him. Draco bucks back, the muscles in his arms constricting. “God, Harry, so good, right there, ah—!” Draco cries. Harry pummels his prostate, and with a dirty, guttural growl, Draco comes in long ribbons onto the rug beneath them as his arse spasms around Harry’s cock. He continues to pump into Draco, and after a few fast thrusts, he comes as well, a sound ripping from him that’s inhuman. It feels as if the very walls of the study shake from the magnitude of it and Harry smiles. Draco falls forward then, Harry lands just to the side of him, not wanting to crush a happily sated, loose Draco with his currently dead weight. Before Harry can draw a breath, Draco yanks him into a hungry kiss, their tongues licking into each other’s mouths. Draco smiles fondly when they pull apart, running his hands through Harry’s wild hair, cooing sweet praises into Harry’s ear before embracing one another. 

A few minutes pass before either one of them speak. “I can’t believe you didn’t remove any of your clothes,” Draco chuckles. Harry starts and looks down. He hasn’t removed his shirt and his pants and trousers are pushed down to his knees. Draco’s laughter reverberates in Harry’s chest as he holds him tighter. “Plebeian.”

“I couldn’t wait,” he responds and laughs, pressing a kiss to the side of Draco’s neck. He rolls over, landing on his back and Draco turns to throw a long pale arm and leg over his body.

“I should practice more often, then. That was bloody brilliant. I especially loved when you used your spit, it was hot, but Harry, next time a little bit more lube wouldn’t go remiss,” Draco says, a lazy smile on his face. Harry nods, leaning in to capture Draco’s mouth once more in a short, chaste kiss, unable to help himself. “Oh, fuck, Luna! Do you think she heard us?”

“She apparently had somewhere else to go, but threw up a silencing charm, bless her,” Harry says, chuckling. “Did you finish moving everything in?” Draco nods. “Good. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to finish up with you, I hate pulling weekend rotation.”

“It’s fine, Luna and I got the most of it set up already. Neville came by to help a bit, along with Dean and Seamus, but they buggered off before the study was even unpacked.”

“Excellent, we have _amazing_ friends,” Harry huffed with a roll of his eyes. “I’m just happy you’re finally _here_.” Harry pulls Draco closer, kissing his sweaty forehead. “I get to have you every single day. Just like this.” Draco hums softly, nuzzling his face into Harry’s sweat-slick neck.

“If the sex is like this every day, I’m sold.” Harry nudges him slightly, his lips quirking up into a silly smile. He runs his hand lazily down Draco’s arm.

Suddenly a cold draft sweeps over them. Draco shivers. The room has started to dim around them and they cling tightly to one another. “I don’t want you to forget me,” Draco whispers.

“I could never.”

“But I think they’ve found us.”

 

 _“How bizarre…”_ says a disembodied voice. It is distinctively Luna’s.

 

Harry peers down at Draco, his eyes filled with fear. “Oh my God, I can hear it,” Draco whispers. Harry doesn’t have time to think about what _that_ means for them now, because Dean’s voice is filling the study.

_“One minute we’ve got a clear route of the memories being erased, the next we have these traces left, as if the memory hasn’t been fully removed. Do you see the residual sequences here?”_

_“I’ve never seen anything like this before, but at least we know where he is right now. We’re stuck on this memory sequence right here— Good. I think it best if we give him a session of electroconvulsive therapy just to nudge him along the proper route of memories. He’ll be alright,” Luna’s voice is filled with amusement._

_“Really, Luna? I thought we were going to avoid the heavy-duty therapy on Harry…”_

_“I wanted to avoid it, too, Dean, but we can’t botch this up. It needs to be done properly…for Harry’s sake. C’mon, I’ll turn the controls on.”_

Harry bolts upright, pulling Draco along with him. “Get dressed, we have to get out of here!” He frantically stands up, fixing his trousers. He helps a shivering Draco to his feet.

Draco sways into him, his arms coming out to steady himself against his shoulders. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Draco, listen, please. We need to run, we…we need to find another memory to escape to, otherwise I’m going to lose you forever, and that can’t happen, remember? We can fight this.” He swallows down a painful ball of panic. He begins to search the floor for his wand, the room nearly pitch black. He finds it and with a flick of his wrist Draco is fully clothed. “Isn’t there anything we can do? A spell?”

“I…I don’t know,” Draco whispers. Then shakes his head. “We can’t, really, we’re _stuck_ —”

_“Do it.”_

 

A searing pain rips through Harry’s head and he falls to his knees, hands coming up to clench at his head as a blood curdling scream erupts from his throat. He hunches over, trembling, his head pounding. There’s something wet running over his mouth. He lifts a shaking hand to his mouth, coming away with blood that’s pouring from his nose.

“Harry!” Draco cries as he drops to his knees beside him, his hands scrambling to pinch the bridge of his nose to stop the flow of blood. “Oh, God,” Draco chokes, “Oh God, oh God,” he repeats, voice brimming with panic. “They’re going to kill us.”

 _“Are we back up yet?”_ comes Luna’s voice.

_“No, he’s still stuck in this memory sequence right here.”_

_“We’ll have to do it again.”_  

“Harry! We need to get out of here, please, before you have another attack! Think of another memory, _please,_ ” Draco whimpers. Harry closes his eyes. Draco pulls his hands away from his nose, the blood now coming out in trickles and shakes him. “Goddamn it, Harry, please, please...stay awake!” Draco nearly screams. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open. His body yearns for rest and his sore throat cries for water. He swallows uncomfortably and his head falls back, body collapsing into Draco’s quivering arms.

“It’ll be okay, Draco,” he says weakly, his eyes rolling back. He feels oddly numb and breathless, his stomach lurching from the after effects of the shock. “Just go, another memory, without me, please, run…”

“I’m not fucking leaving you!” Draco says franticly through tears, his face close to Harry’s.

_“Ready?” comes Luna voice again._

_“Luna. This is practically brain damage—I don’t think—”_

_“We have to make sure this is_ perfect _. Do it again, Dean.”_

“Go! Run! Run! Run! Please, run!” Harry hysterically pleads. “Draco, let _go_ of me,” _before they hurt you, too,_ goes unsaid. His speech slurs and the remaining words are stuck in his throat as his vision blurs.

“Remember me,” Draco’s tearful voice, fraught with despair, rings in his ears. Harry’s surroundings begin to darken around him as another burst of pain rips through his head. “Goddamn it, Harry,” Draco whimpers, barely above a whisper. _“Remember me.”_

* * *

When Harry regains consciousness, he’s alone. The circular room he’s awoken in is pearly, translucent white and there’s a spinning and beeping noise that sets his teeth on edge. Before him is an empty desk, a tape recorder placed in the centre of it. Suddenly, a soft click emits from the recorder and the tiny wheels of tape begin to spin.

“Tell me everything you can about your relationship with Draco.”

Startled, Harry spins on his heel towards the voice. Standing before him is Luna, her long blonde hair pulled back into a messy chignon, several strands framing her pale face. Harry shivers. Gone is the girl he knew as a child who believed in Nargles and Wrackspurts. Her usual cheerful silvery eyes were now hard and devoid of its usual merriment. She no longer wore vivid colours, the Butterbeer cork necklaces, the Dirigible plum earrings. Harry tries to remember when exactly she’d stopped being herself. Was it when Neville tried to kill himself? Was it when he had decided to permanently reside at Hogwarts while Luna lived at their townhouse in Camden? He knew they spent the weekends together. He thought things were improving.

“Luna,” he pants, his eyes trained on the woman as she manoeuvres around him. She gives him a stony look and tilts her head to the side. “What am I doing here? Where’s Draco?” Luna makes her way to the desk and gracefully falls into a worn leather armchair that’s conjured without a word or swish of a wand.

She shoves a hand between the space in the seat and pulls out a tiny, folded piece of muggle paper. She unfolds it carefully, smoothing the note on the surface of the desk before clearing her throat. “ _’If you love someone, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don’t, they never were’_ —do you know who scribbled that saying down, Harry?” Cold dread surges through him as he makes a dismayed little sound in the back of his throat. “Mmm, yes, you’re right, Draco,” Luna answers with a smile. She waves a hand before her and another leather seat appears on the other side of the desk. Fearing he might collapse to the floor, Harry flops dejectedly into the proffered seat. “Do you think he meant for you to come after him that unfortunate night?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The night you assaulted him and he walked away from your relationship for good,” she says matter-of-factly. “You really did a number on him, so maybe he wrote this anonymous note to make himself feel better about erasing you.”

“You have to stop this,” he demands, pained and stunned by her words. Luna winces, the smile melting into a look of bewilderment.

“What do you mean?”

“You know,” Harry starts, shaking his head. He takes another look around the room and realises that he’s been here before. This is Luna’s office. He remembers waking up in a bed when he had learned of Draco erasing him, and then Luna leading him here, but it’s all so hazy now. Did she tell him it would be like this? She never warned him of the pain, never warned him of how sorry he’d feel trapped in this hell. There’s a manic determination that grips him. Perhaps he’s here in this room with Luna because she might be able to reverse the procedure. The words stumble out of his mouth before he can think them through properly. “You can fix this. _Fix_ this for me, please…”

“Harry, what can I do from here?” she says incredulously.

“ _I_ don’t know, Luna, but _you_ know,” he starts, his voice fraught with anxiety. “You’re erasing him from me. You got Dean, you had bloody Seamus in my flat, _you’re_ in my flat, electrocuting my _fucking_ _brain_!” Harry says, his voice steadily rising in volume and his hands coming up to clench at his hair in frustration. “You’re, you’re erasing Draco from me, and I love him, goddamn it, I do. I want to wake up, I _have_ to wake up because if I don’t—!”

“Harry, please calm down.” She pauses, expression thoughtful. “I thought you wanted this? I mean, look what he did to you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” he yells, arms now wrapping around his body and left leg bouncing as anxiety prickles his skin.

“No, Harry,” Luna says firmly. “You wanted the memories of him gone. You must ask yourself why—why are you fighting against the procedure? For what? Aren’t you exhausted from this vicious loop of heartbreak—every memory you fight to keep will be erased regardless. You’re not moving forward, only repeating the same painful conversations, replaying the same hurt that ended your relationship. It’s fucked up and it’s a waste of energy on your part,” she says in her airy voice. Harry flinches, having never heard Luna swear before. “He left you, left you all alone without any kind of forewarning. He’s a _coward._ ”

Harry recoils and gapes in shock at her. “How can you say that? He’s your friend!”

“I love Draco, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a coward,” she says, cocking her head to the side in confusion. “Don’t you believe so? I know you do. After all,” Luna pauses, a sad look on her face, “I’m in your head.” Harry gasps at her comment, a sick feel roiling in his stomach. Some small part of him pulses with that very thought about Draco. He did blame Draco’s cowardice for seeking out Luna to erase him, it was impulsive and unfair. But Harry knows better now. Having relived their memories together so far, he can understand Draco’s hopelessness, his self-hatred and grief. He understands that the other man simply felt as if he had no choice in the face of Harry’s emotional unavailability.

“Stop it. Stop filling my head with your rubbish and just wake me up.” He begins to shake uncontrollably, inwardly begging for all this to be a nightmare.

“You think you won’t be able to live without him, but you will. You think you’ll cease to exist, but Harry, you’ve lived without so many people. _So many_. Your mum, your dad, Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore…you’ll learn to live without Draco, too.”

He’s on his feet now, fuming with anger as he leans over the formidable tape recorder, hands planted on the desk. Luna coolly reclines back in her seat, her wide pale eyes blinking owlishly up at him. “I don’t want this anymore, so please, please just leave me alone now.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Harry,” she starts slowly. “I’m just trying to reassure you that after he’s gone, you’ll live again.”

“I don’t want him gone!” Harry screams, his eyes burning and head spinning in confusion.

“I’m just trying to imagine, Harry, what I can possibly do from here? I’m in your head…I’m _you.”_

There’s a pregnant pause. Harry takes a sharp inhale of breath and simply stares at her in disbelief. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Fear slowly spreads across his body, dreading her response.

“You, I’m _you_.”

“I don’t know what that _means_!”

“I already told you.” She pauses, shaking her head grimly. “He abandoned you.”

“I abandoned him first.”

“Do you even _know_ him? You love the idea of Draco, not the reality—not Draco the man.”

“Of course I know him Luna,” he hisses, his ire rising once more.

“What can you possibly remember about him that’s of any significance? You never allowed yourself to grow close to him. You were always ridiculing him, keeping secrets from him, projecting your own mess onto him. _You_ ran away from true intimacy and made _him_ feel crazy for wanting it. It was four years of a falsely constructed romance – of you gaslighting him, if anything,” Luna says cruelly, leaning forward in her seat. “You knew Draco the Alcoholic, Draco the Lazy Musician, Draco the Ex-Death Eater. What do you remember about him beyond that, Harry? Absolutely nothing!” Luna shouts. “You let Draco down, Harry, you hurt Draco, Harry, you _ruined_ Draco, Harry!” she says hysterically, her face twisted and manic.

Harry once again recoils from her. “That’s simply not true,” he says faintly. He feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him as Luna lifts eyes full of accusation to glare at him. His knees buckle and he goes crashing back into his seat, heaping sobs escaping his body as he buries his face into his palms, pressing his glasses up onto his forehead. “It’s just not true.”

“I’m _know_ what makes your heart beat and what makes your stomach churn, Harry _._ ”

“You’re _insane_ –you’re _insane_ to do this to people for a living. To people you call your _friends._ People make mistakes and you –” he says through tears, the sentence dying in his throat. He looks up at her as his glasses fall back into place.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Harry – what do you _remember_ about Draco Malfoy, the man you want to forget?” she asks softly. Her fluctuating tones and emotions scare him and he tears his gaze from her, eyes unfocused as he stares blankly off to the side.

“I remember that I love him and he loves me,” he starts. He pictures Draco sprawled out in their bed, his hair fanned out against the pillow, clever grey eyes staring up at him with a slow smile creeping across his face. He’s never felt worthy to have Draco in his life. He’s always been so beautiful in that unattainable way. And he’s so supportive, so intelligent. Here in this unfamiliar place without Draco by his side, a small voice in the back of his mind deceptively whispers that perhaps he’s finally reached the end of this fight, that perhaps now is the time to say goodbye. “I remember what he means to me…”

“And?” Luna asks, sotto voce.

“I remember that he’s the words behind my silence. That even during our fights and coldest moments together, I would see him as the love behind my grief, the compassion behind my indifference.” Harry swallows and feeling emboldened, turns fiery eyes back to Luna. “I fucked up, Luna, but I can’t forget him. I won’t.” Luna nods gravely and leans forward to press the _stop_ button on the recorder and then the _rewind_ button.

“I’m sorry – there’s nothing to be done for it.”

“ _Luna_ , please,” he begs, “it’s me _,_ _me,_ your friend, how can you do this to me? To Draco? Just leave it alone, let me go back to my flat, let me wake up.”

“You keep asking me to help you, but in reality, all that you’re doing is asking yourself. I’m _you_ , Harry. Every sordid feeling, every hopeless thought you’ve ever had, I’m just repeating back to you. Have you gained clarity yet?”

“Luna, you’re not making sense—”

“I am, Harry. You just _never_ listen. This is quite a hero’s journey you’re on, is it not?” she asks, her tone sympathetic. She leans forward, as if preparing to tell him a secret. “Through this whole ordeal…haven’t you gained the most prized thing you’ve wanted since the very start? _Hm?_ You wanted to forget him. You wanted to know _why_ he would do something like this…so here it is, you’re seeing it all first-hand. _You_ did this.” She points at him before coolly leaning back in her seat. “I’ve enjoyed our little chat, and never fear Harry. This will be all over before you know it – or not know it,” she says with a quizzical lift of her brow.

The recorder gives a soft _click._ Luna hits _play._

_“…Tell me everything you can about your relationship with Draco…”_

He watches as Luna pops out of existence. The tape recorder repeats in a loop her initial question. There’s a rippling noise sounding off and he looks up at the ceiling. The very walls around him are cracking, giving off a stench of decay. It’s a rancid, disgusting trail of black fungus that’s rapidly crawling, like reedy vines, from between the cracks to over the previous white walls, the horrid smell emitting from the deteriorating plaster causing Harry to gag. He tries to stand, fear flooding him, but it’s as if he’s been petrified. He screams between his gulps of air. He begs for Luna to come back. _I’m you,_ plays over and over in his head, drowning out the recording as tendrils of fungus turn into blocks of black. Soon Harry is enshrouded in it, his screams unheard.

* * *

They’re under a thin duvet together, heads covered, with their faces close as they smile at one another. The bright sunshine from Harry’s window illuminates the thin material. It’s Valentine’s Day and they have spent the better half of the morning having sweet, tender sex. It was Draco’s idea to finish the rest of the morning by whispering to one another under the covers like children and eating breakfast in bed.

Harry’s on his side, head propped up on his hand as he stares down at Draco. The other man has his eyes closed. Harry is once again struck by just how lovely Draco is. Leaning forward Harry captures his mouth for the hundredth time today since they did away with their crepes, their fingers and bedding sticky. “Mm, you taste like syrup,” Harry whispers against his mouth. He flops onto his back at Draco’s low, content sigh. He peeks from out of the duvet to look up at the ceiling of the bedroom. Draco recently hung his favourite multi-coloured paper lanterns above the bed and Harry loves them. Draco pulls him back under the duvet.

“Harry?”

“Mm?”

“Am I ugly?”

Harry rolls onto his side, propping himself up once more, his glasses sliding down his nose as he takes in the sad expression on Draco’s beautiful face. He’s always loved his adorable pointy chin, strong jaw, patrician nose and high cheekbones. Those delicately arched eyebrows were now furrowed and his shock of white blond hair was free from any colour charms and in a state of chaos quite fitting for their early morning trysts and breakfast adventures. But what he loves the most are Draco’s wide pale grey eyes and plump, pink cupid bow-shaped lips. He uses the pad of his thumb to drag across that lovely bottom lip. “Absolutely not.”

Draco runs a shaky, sticky hand through his dishevelled hair as he releases a tired sigh. “When I was a kid, I thought I was,” he pauses, his voice cracking. “I can’t believe I’m crying already…” Harry palms Draco’s cold cheek, brushing his thumb across his unblemished flesh to smooth away the tear. “Sometimes…sometimes I think people don’t understand how _lonely_ it is to be a kid, especially if you’re the only kid in the house. It’s like you don’t matter.”

Harry opens his mouth to tell Draco that yes, he knows exactly what it feels like to be ignored as a child. That he was thrust into a cupboard and neglected for the first eleven years of his life and that he also knows what true loneliness is. But he can’t, he’s too ashamed to tell anyone—especially Draco—the full details of his pathetic childhood. All Draco knows is that he was raised muggle by family members that hated him. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to tell anyone the full extent of the abuse he suffered at the hands of his blood relatives. He couldn’t bear to expose Draco to even a shred of the immense weight he’s cursed to carry every day.

“So, I’m eight, and I have these toys, _dolls_ really, that Mother gave me. I kept them hidden because they were _our_ secret and Father hated muggle toys. My favourite was this ugly blond boy doll that I kept calling Draco, and I’d yell at him— ‘ _Don’t be ugly! Don’t be ugly! Don’t!_ ’ It’s weird, really weird. Shortly after Voldemort took over the Manor, I found that doll again and realised my greatest fear had become my reality. It didn’t matter what I did, nothing I said could change that doll, so it made sense that I couldn’t magically change, too.”

“You’re _beautiful_ , Draco— inside and out,” Harry says firm and compassionately, his heart breaking for him. He leans over to kiss him again, moving so his body covers Draco’s. Draco gingerly holds his face in between his hands, and those wide grey eyes stare up at Harry as though truly seeing him for the first time.

“Harry, don’t ever leave me,” Draco pleads, his voice strained with emotion as he wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

“You’re beautiful…you’re beautiful…you’re beautiful…” he mutters against Draco’s lips, the duvet keeping them hidden from the morning rays. As he closes his eyes, the kiss ignited between them grows hurried, brimming with longing. As Draco hooks his long legs around him, he feels as if Draco is the only entity tethering him to reality right now and if he let’s go he’ll cease to exist.

The moment he opens his eyes he sees that Draco’s eyes are filled with tears. They’re slowly clouding over with an unfocused glaze that frightens Harry.

“Draco?” he croaks.

“Harry,” he says faintly. With a soft _pop,_ Draco disappears beneath him _._

Suddenly, a near blinding white light flashes across his eyes, shocking his retinas. With a hiss of pain, he scrambles to cover his face, the shock from the light on his eyes still burning behind his closed eyelids. The duvet suddenly springs to life, wrapping itself tightly around him as he struggles against its confines. He’s sinking into the bedding, emerging in a sea of blankets, pillows, and sheets. Alarmed, he realises that this tender memory is being ripped from him. “Draco!” he screams, arms flailing as he attempts to crawl through the infinite bedding that’s pulling him deeper into its cascading folds. His breathing constricts. “Fuck,” he chokes, fighting to crawl through the endless layers towards a slit of an opening, the multi-coloured lanterns dangling in the far, far distance. “Luna!” he cries out into the vast confines, “Luna. Please let me keep this memory. Just. This. One.” His arms grow weary and his head starts to ache. _“PLEASE! Stop…stop…STOP!”_

And everything stops. The slight opening leading to his freedom disappears along with the twisting bedding. He plunges into darkness.

Harry knows pain. He has become quite acquainted with it over the years through the war and his fieldwork, but this is not the physical kind of pain he is accustomed to.

He feels like he’s being ripped apart into a million tiny pieces. The repetitive shredding sensation causes him to howl in pain. It’s as if his fingers break away from his palms, his legs crack and disappear, his torso separates from his pelvis –everything is slowly being forcibly removed from him. Finally, his mind is picked apart. That fated sound of nails on a chalkboard sounds off and he screams in pain once again as an excruciating rush of memories flood his fracturing mind.

He sees himself standing in the Great Court at the British Museum with Draco. They’re pulling silly faces as they snap pictures. Draco drones on and on about the Rosetta Stone and how King Ptolemy V was a wizard. He sees them holding hands as they lounge on a beach in Brighton on a lazy summer afternoon. Then they’re shopping at the local farmer’s market, Draco glancing through the miniature pots of succulents he likes to line the windowsills in the flat with. They’re gardening during springtime in the little garden space they have out back. He sees them slow-dancing in the middle of the kitchen as he warbles off a tune. He sees…Draco tipping over the monopoly board as they once again lose to Ron and Hermione. Draco spilling nearly half of his meal of a cheese toasty and tomato soup in bed as he lunges at Harry for a kiss. Playfully arguing about _The Weakest Link_ on the telly. Racing each other on their brooms. Draco playing some of his favourite muggle music on the record player. Draco naked below him, face twisted up in passion. Draco kissing him in the early hours of the morning. Draco tenderly kissing his mother’s hand. Draco teaching him how to bake. Draco brewing his own blend of skin and haircare potions. Draco reading by the fireplace. Draco practicing on his cello. Draco performing at work on the piano. Draco holding the one-eyed teddy bear. Draco scribbling his ‘anonymous’ notes. Draco singing. Draco pouting. Draco scolding. Draco screaming. Draco crying. Draco laughing. Draco sleeping. Draco whispering— _I love you_.   

Finally, he understands what Luna meant—what _he_ meant. He _is_ searching for clarity _._ All his fears and insecurities –Luna was just a manifestation of all those pent-up feelings. She offered a chance for him to glance into the mirror and see himself for what he is. A coward. It showed him why he embarked on this journey in the first place – to traverse through these negative memories of Draco so he may be assuaged of the pain over completely failing Draco. He wanted to be cleansed from this grief. To be made whole after losing Draco and without any blame. But in the process, he sacrificed all the good memories they shared – memories that happily filled the spaces of his days. He had forgotten all the beautiful reasons he fell in love with Draco in the first place, reasons that made Harry proud to be the man he is. Proud to have found his soulmate.

Fuck. Draco is his _soulmate._

And now those precious memories are being forcefully removed from his body and mind, slipping away as easily as water cupped in trembling hands. The trickling loss is simply unbearable.

He hears Luna’s soft, calm voice whispering, _“You broke your own heart.”_

Paralysed, all he can do is scream into the vast darkness. The horrible sound rips from him and echoes in this infinite, blank space. He’s somewhere in the corner of his mind, the only space where he is both self-aware of his predicament and arrested from escaping it. This procedure is a curse, bringing to life such a reality, its sole purpose to perform as a holding place for his pain. He wonders if he’ll live within this finely carved out void in his mind forever, now that Draco is gone. He wonders if he’ll forever live life empty on the inside because he knows something is missing.

 

A blast sounds off in the distance followed by a crack of glass shattering.

Everything is silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve changed the publication date of this story as I’ve made extensive edits in preparation for the next two chapters. I’ll be posting chapter four when RL isn’t so unbelievably chaotic, and I sincerely hope you can forgive me for the potentially long wait. 
> 
> Thank you for all of your support and kindness, and do look me up on Tumblr. I do so much appreciate a lovely chat! Peep me @[Thus Spoke Trish](http://thusspoketrish.tumblr.com).


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